


Winchester Meant Family

by Ordered_Chaos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Closure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Castiel, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Love, M/M, Mary Ships It, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, My vision for season 12, Requited Love, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sam Ships It, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Torture, mention of past child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 75,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7333333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ordered_Chaos/pseuds/Ordered_Chaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is taken, Castiel banished, Dean and Mary lost.<br/>Somehow they have to put their family back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before - A Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hai everyone!  
> This fic is my take on the upcoming season 12. Most of it will probably be instantly refuted when the season airs, but hey, that's fanfic. ;) I call bragging rights now if I get anything right by accident.  
> Huge thanks to my Beta [thecadenceandthecacophany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecadenceandthecacophony) for all your help and encouragement.  
> I don't own Supernatural or its characters.

_Chuck and Amara_

_twisted together, their spiritual forms_

_entwined_

_no longer at odds._

_The oldest feud in the universe_

_solved, thanks to_

_Dean Winchester_

_struggled to return to his_

_family_

_isolated and searching,_

_he heard a voice calling for help_

_Mom? he asked, while_

_Castiel Winchester_

_tried to support Sam,_

_heartbroken,_

_offering everything he could_

_until a voice interrupted,_

_banished him, leaving_

_Sam Winchester_

_alone and defeated,_

_his brothers gone._

_Where’s Dean, she asked._

_Dead._

_He didn’t stop, and_

_She pulled the trigger._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the little prologue I wrote, to sum up what happened right before this fic starts. (*bites lip nervously and makes faint noises of distress*)  
> Hope you enjoyed! (*eye twitches*)


	2. The One Who Bled Alone

Mary. Mom. His mother. Impossibly, miraculously alive. Resurrected by the most ancient force of darkness in the universe.

His mom.

She recognized him, staring at her thirty-seven-year-old son, older than she had been when she had died. She stood frozen.

Dean closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. She smelled of warm rain and soft earth. He was shaking.

“Mom,” Dean whispered, and his voice cracked.

Her arms wrapped slowly around him, gripped him tight, as though she couldn’t believe he was real, as though she couldn’t understand what was happening, as though she couldn’t bear to not to hold him for another moment.

“Mom,” he croaked again. “Mom.”

She pulled away. Their eyes sparkled with tears, but Mary was smiling, beaming, staring up at her son.

“Dean,” she whispered back. Her hand cupped his cheek, catching a tear. “My son.”

Dean had never thought he’d hear those words. He choked on his heart, which had swelled to fill his throat. Pulling Mary close again, he buried his face in her shoulder.

He didn’t know how long she held him. Both of them seemed content to never let go. But Dean felt her shivering. She was only wearing a nightgown, after all, and the night was chilly.

Stepping away, Dean pulled off his jacket. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her and wiping his eyes.

Mary took it, looking around. Dean found it hard not to marvel at the _life_ in her eyes. The very fact that she was breathing.

“Where are we?”

The question brought him back to reality. Dean remembered everything: Amara and Chuck—holy crap he had just watched _God_ leave—and Sam and Cas somewhere—Jesus, they thought he was dead—and the fact that he had no idea where he was. Chuck couldn’t have left him with a map? And Amara had done this. Brought Mary back. It seemed too good to be without a catch, but he couldn’t bring himself to question it, not now, not yet.

“I, uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck and gestured with the hand holding his phone. “I don’t know.”

Mary’s eyes fastened onto the phone. “I have a lot to catch up on,” she said. Her tone was wistful, face sad. “You’re grown up.”

Dean shifted awkwardly. Suddenly he was older than his mother.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he said, giving her a smile. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

He checked the phone for service again. Still nothing. “Ahh, we have to find service,” he said, looking up and down the foggy road. A single streetlight glowed warmly in the gloom, but there were no houses. “Amara couldn’t’ve dropped us anywhere useful.”

“Amara.”

“Uh, yeah. She’s, uh….” How do you tell your long-dead mother that you’re kind-of friends with the Creator of the Universe and his Weird Sister?

“I met her.”

That brought Dean up short. “You did? When? Did she do anything to you?”

“Dean,” Mary chided gently, and he marveled at hearing his name from his mother’s mouth. “She brought me back. We talked a bit.”

“What? Just now?”

“She was grateful. To you.” Mary started to walk again.

Dean grunted.

She watched him with happy eyes sparkling in the darkness. “I’m very proud of you, Dean.”

His eyes closed involuntarily, wanting to save those words, engrave them into his heart. He had always needed them.

“Mom, I’m—”

“Don’t—”

“—sorry.”

They stopped and looked at each other. Mary stepped nearer. Dean was not used to having someone other than Sam or Cas so close to him without danger or intimidation. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t hold her gaze. Instead his head drooped and he muttered, “I haven’t…I’m….”

“Dean, look at me.” Her voice was gentle, not the rebuke he expected. Her hand touched his cheek again, not pushing, but inviting him to look up. He reluctantly did.

“You are my son. I can’t imagine what your life has been like. But I know you’ve lived it well. I’m so sorry to have missed it. I love you.”

Dean tried very hard to keep from sobbing, but Mary seemed to understand. She pulled him into another hug, letting him hide his face. Dean’s whole body shook with the physical strain of keeping his tumultuous emotions silent. There was a heavy lump blocking his throat. He wanted to sit down.

Mary held him until Dean cleared his throat and pulled away. He wiped his eyes and saw that hers were dry. Feeling awkward, Dean sniffed and said gruffly, “We have to find service.”

Wordlessly, Mary nodded and led the way on.

“And Mom?”

She looked back, questioning. Dean felt like he was four years old again.

“Thanks.”

She answered with a smile.

[|][|][|]

The bullet impacted his left shoulder. It was a little gun, and it didn’t go all the way through, but the shot’s range was immediate. Sam flinched, tripping backwards but keeping his feet. He willed himself to be calm. It was only a flesh wound. He’d had worse, he thought as pain crawled over his vision like a blindfold. He had survived worse.

“Get on the ground,” Toni ordered. “Or I’ll put the next one in something important.”

Sam tried to focus on her. It was hard when it felt like his whole arm had just been detached. Maybe the bullet had dislocated his shoulder.

Toni jerked the gun. “I don’t want to kill you, Sam Winchester. But I will. Get on the ground.”

Years of honing his survival drive meant that Sam sat. He knew she was serious. If he’d stopped to think, he would have known before she shot him. But he was grieving and reckless, and honestly right now he just didn’t care. Dean was gone. Cas was gone. Freaking _God_ was gone. It was too much. The world hadn’t ended, but it was broken. Or maybe that was just Sam.

What kind of monster let his brother walk to his death alone? After everything. What kind of darkness was inside him?

He hit the floor as a wave of dizziness washed over him. The hand pressed against the shoulder wound was already dripping blood.

“Just make this quick,” he told Toni. He felt nothing but exhaustion. “I’m not going to go with you, or whatever you want. Just kill me.”

Toni still had the gun pointed at him, but the other hand—the one she had cut to draw the sigil that had banished Cas—was in her pocket.

“Here we go,” she said with a cockiness that was too much like Dean’s. It grated on Sam’s nerves. She produced a pair of handcuffs and tossed them to him. Markings were engraved in the silver metal. He raised his eyebrows.

“Might be tough with that shoulder, but put the cuffs on,” she said, the gun never wavering. “I want your hands behind your back.”

Sam grunted, reaching for the cuffs. For a moment he wondered how quickly he could throw them, whether he could knock the gun from her hand, or hit her on the head with them and knock her out. He dismissed the notion.

Getting the cuff around the wrist of his injured hand was easy. Dragging it behind his back felt like he was trying to tear his own arm off. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he panted with pain, concentrating on getting both hands close enough together to snap the cuffs closed. But he couldn’t get it. Hands behind his back, shoulder bleeding, he couldn’t get the right angle or pressure to close the cuffs.

Sam jumped when Toni snapped them shut herself. She back away again, watching him warily. Evidently she had approached while he’d been focused on the cuffs, and he’d been in too much pain to notice. He cursed himself silently.

“What now?” he asked, shaking his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

Sighing, Toni pulled out her phone. “Now, you stay put, and I make a call. Don’t move.” Her threatening glare was steady. “I have good aim. Don’t tempt me again.”

She stalked to the other side of the room and dialed. Then she crossed her gun arm over her chest and put her back to the wall, watching him. Sam didn’t bother trying to get out of the cuffs. The sigils would probably prevent him, even if he had the will. Blood tickled his wrist.

When Toni spoke, her tone was serious. “Yes, sir. I’ve got Sam Winchester. Dean is dead, apparently.” She paused. “Sam. I believe him…. Yes, sir. He is restrained.” Toni listened for a moment. “I don’t think that’s— But sir— Very good. Until then.”

She hung up, slipping the phone back into her pocket. Sam watched her warily as she pulled out something else: a silver band with etchings stylistically similar to the cuffs on his wrists. Her eyes hard, Toni shoved the bracelet on her wrist and spoke.

“ _Ligare in deditionem_.”

The cuffs grew warm, then uncomfortably cold. It felt as though they were biting him.

Toni jerked her chin. “Get up.”

Staggering slightly, Sam clambered to his feet, dizzy. His blood pressure must have dropped a lot. Well, that’s what happens when there’s a hole in your shoulder.

“Turn around,” Toni said, twitching the gun at him. “Go.”

Sam treaded slowly toward the stairs, sensing Toni behind him. His shoulder throbbed, and he knew even if he tried to attack her, he’d probably just end up with another bullet hole. He watched his feet, feeling nothing.

He jumped when Toni abruptly spoke. “It’s me. We’re all set. Bring the car around.”

“Open the door,” she told him when they’d reached the top of the stairs.

Sunlight slapped his eyes as the door’s hinges squealed open. Squinting, Sam stepped out. The brightness was just another reminder that Dean had sacrificed himself for the world. He closed his eyes, and wished to never open them.

“Keep walking.”

He tripped forward and set his eyes back to the ground. Better to not fall on his face. God he hated this.

A shiny limousine pulled to a smooth stop at the end of the path in front of them. The driver, a well-dressed black man with sharp eyes, got out and came around the car to open the door for them. He sized Sam up cautiously.

“Ma’am, you’re bleeding,” he said, noticing Toni’s bloodstained hand.

“So’s he,” she replied. “I’ll fix us up in the car. Just get us to the strip as quick as you can.”

The man nodded, waited until Sam and Toni were both in the backseat, and then closed the door. The interior light stayed on and Toni took a seat across from Sam. He shifted, sitting sideways because his hands were still cuffed behind his back.

“Hate this,” she muttered, leaning down to grope under the seat. The gun was still pointed at him. Sam heard the doors lock. “Sit tight, Sam.”

She pulled a first-aid kit out from under the seat and set about cleaning and bandaging her hand. The car started to move. Sighing to herself, Toni pulled the gauze tight around the cut and lifted her eyes to Sam. Then she paused, shifting uncomfortably.

“I’d like to wrap up your shoulder, get the bleeding to stop,” she said hesitantly.

Maybe it was because he’d expected another threat, but her tone bothered him. He just stared as she moved to the seat beside him. The emergency shears sliced through the fabric of his shirt easily. He didn’t bother watching. He’d seen his blood flowing from plenty of open wounds. He wished Dean was the one patching him up.

It took her several painful minutes to work the bullet out, carefully widening the hole enough to get the tweezers in. Sam kept as quiet as he could, clenching his teeth, his eyes closed. This was nothing. When she’d finished, Toni taped gauze over the wound and hesitated again, her hand poised as though to pat his arm. But she didn’t, and instead moved across the car to her own seat, shoving the first aid kit beneath. She picked up the gun again and pointed it at him. Sam wondered when she had put it down.

His own lethargy bothered him. He hadn’t lost so much blood. Maybe it was combined grief, shock, and pain that was keeping him so numb. He watched the Kansas roadside fly past.

The car ride passed in a silence that Sam hardly noticed. He wouldn’t have cared if Toni had been monologuing the whole time. He probably wouldn’t have even listened.

He must have fallen asleep, because much too quickly, the door was opening, spilling painful sunlight back into his eyes. Toni got out and turned back to point her gun at Sam.

“Come on,” she said.

When Sam ducked out of the limo, he saw that they were on an airstrip. A tiny private plane waited nearby, its engines loud and sending out waves of hot air. Sam coughed.

While Toni thanked the driver—he thought he heard her call him James—Sam stood quietly. The British flag was painted on the side of the plane. He didn’t have to wonder where she was going to take him.

“Come on, Sam,” Toni said sharply. The gun prodded at his back and he moved clumsily toward the plane. Toni’s footsteps followed him up the steps into the small space. There were no other passengers.

“Sit down, please,” Toni said as the door closed behind them, the hydraulics hissing loudly. She went over to the phone on the wall and was reaching for it when a shrill sound made her stop.

Sam’s phone was ringing. He couldn’t reach into his pocket, but he was confused. It must be Cas. No one else would be calling him.

Toni walked up to him, also looking puzzled. Giving Sam an apologetic look, she reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. She stared at it for a moment, then said in a quiet voice, “You said Dean was dead.”

Sam didn’t understand. Toni showed the phone to him. ‘Dean calling’ was plainly visible on the screen. He blinked.

“Damn it,” Toni muttered. She turned away from him, silenced his phone, and stuck it in her pocket. Sam’s mind was blank.

Toni put the wall phone up to her ear. “Get us home,” she said. “We’re all set.”

Then she sat, pulled out her cell phone and held it to her ear, waiting. “Hello, sir. Yes. We’re on the plane. But apparently—Yes—Dean is alive….Well, I could go back for him, but I’ve got Sam secure. I thought it better to get him back immediately. If we delay, Dean will find a way to— Yes, sir. Alright.”

She hung up, putting her phone away, and turned her tense frame to look out the window. The plane started taxiing, and barely a minute later Sam felt himself pushed back as they accelerated. His ears popped and the grinding of the ground beneath them dropped away. They were in the air.

Dean was alive.

The thought echoed in Sam’s strangely empty mind. Somehow, he had survived. Something had gone right. Sam couldn’t understand it. But his heart was racing, and he knew that he must not be on this plane.

“You—” Sam said, his brow furrowing. Forming words to say suddenly felt like squeezing the final drops from a sponge. Toni looked up at him in surprise.

“Your spell,” he managed. It left him breathless. He focused on the pain in his shoulder, trying to dredge up the outrage he knew he should be feeling. “What’s it…doing—to me?”

Toni yanked the bracelet off her arm, and it was as though the volume had been turned back up. Every thought and feeling that he hadn’t felt since she had said the spell back in the bunker rushed through him. The result was panic, making him jump to his feet. This was wrong, this was all wrong. He hadn’t even fought her, hadn’t realized he was under a spell until it was too late, until he was on a plane—headed to England—when Dean was here. When Dean was _alive_.

“What the hell?” he exploded. Toni stayed in her seat, not even pointing the gun at him. Her expression was guarded, but her shoulders slumped.

She held up the small bracelet. “One of our ways to…compel people,” she said, as though the word ‘compel’ was something nasty. Sam shivered. “Companionably called the Dampener.” She glared at it with distaste.

Sam paced back to the window. They were passing through a cloud. He remembered the haze that had filled his mind only a minute ago.

“You hypnotized me?” he asked, his tone low but his heart pounding. He had to find a way off the plane.

“It’s compulsion, not hypnosis,” she said. “Honestly, I’m impressed. It’s supposed to render speech impossible.” She couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “It’s an old artifact. From the middle ages.”

“What are you doing with it?” he demanded, pacing from one side of the plane to the other, staring out the windows. There had to be a way.

“I hate it too,” she said.

That brought him up short. He turned back to look at her, his eyes angry and accusing. Toni sat still for a moment, her expression tired. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. Sam frowned.

Then she stood up, her back primly straight, pointing the gun at his heart. “I thought I should tell you that, you know, since we’re going to be spending the next several hours with only each other’s company,” she said briskly. “Now that we’re here, listen carefully. The spell links those cuffs to this bracelet and my will. I took my end off. I can put it back on. And I will. It’ll be just as hard for you to fight it off the second time. I know you’re thinking about escaping. It’s what you Winchesters are best at. But there are no parachutes on this plane. The cockpit is completely separated from the body of the plane. There is no way through. This phone is now disconnected. Nothing short of a missile will stop this plane, and nothing at all can turn it around.

“If you choose to kill me, as you probably want to, just know that that will seal your fate once we get home. Your chances at the moment are not good, but killing me will not improve them. If you try, I have been authorized to kill you. Am I clear?”

Sam stood very still, considering her. “Yeah,” he said finally, heart pounding as he twisted his hand to test the cuffs. “Yeah, you’re clear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you'd like! <3


	3. Broken Greater Than Before

Cas’s whole body slammed into rough pavement, the light of the sigil still bright in his eyes. His chest felt like fire, as though he had landed on shards of glass. He gasped, cringing. Whatever sigil that woman had used, it was not one he was familiar with. He hadn’t felt this sore since his days as a human.

 _Sam._ Cas forced himself to his feet, coughing into his hand. He was on a stretch of cracked two-lane asphalt, trees standing sentry on both sides. There were no cars in sight. He reached for his phone, to call Sam and make sure he was okay. He had promised Dean, before he had gone. Before he had saved the world _again_.

Instead Cas froze.

“Hello, brother.”

Two angels stood behind him. Cas turned, wary, his eyes flicking from one to the other. They were Shamsiel and Nakir, two angels he knew by sight but not from shared history. They held their angel blades ready, their eyes on his face.

“Sisters,” Castiel said cautiously. He wanted to draw his own blade, but he refrained. He would not be the one to incite violence here.

“Castiel,” Nakir said. Her vessel was black, her eyes rich brown, starlight reflecting off them in the darkness. She took half a step toward him, her blade to the side: present, but not overtly threatening. “Where has our Father gone?”

“He doesn’t know, Nakir,” Shamsiel sneered. The eyes in her pale face were the same shade as Castiel’s, but they held only ice. “Why would he? Father didn’t come back for him. He came back for his Sister and the Traitor. Where is Lucifer, Castiel? Tell us and this will end quickly.” She matched Nakir’s step forward, but kept her blade up.

Castiel met Nakir’s eyes. “He vanished,” he said honestly. “I believe the Darkness took him.”

Nakir looked confused and hurt, but Shamsiel snorted. “Answer my question, Castiel.”

“Amara ripped him from my vessel,” Cas told her. “I don’t know where he ended up. He could be dead.”

“You can’t kill the Deceiver,” Shamsiel said.

“Castiel,” Nakir said. “Please come to back to Heaven with us.”

“She’s asking nicely,” Shamsiel added. “But you don’t have a choice. You’re coming back to Heaven with us, Castiel.”

Cas took a step back. “Sisters, I can’t. I need to be on Earth right now.”

“Is it the Winchesters?” Shamsiel snapped. Nakir looked up at her. “You should have stayed imprisoned under Lucifer. At least he was concerned with the matters of Heaven.”

“I don’t know where Lucifer is,” Cas said firmly. “Hopefully far away from here.”

“Brother—” Nakir began, but Shamsiel cut her off, lunging forward with a hard thrust of her angel blade.

Castiel jumped back, his own blade sliding from his sleeve. He caught it deftly and swung upward so that his blade and Shamsiel’s clashed together in front of their chests. They stood locked against each other. Shamsiel’s eyes bored into him. He met them and saw hatred. Fury reminiscent of the archangels. Cas dropped his eyes.

He shoved hard against Shamsiel’s blade, getting an inch of leverage before he dropped into a crouch, slashing across her leg. Shamsiel cried out and stumbled backward, her blade singing harmlessly over his head. She caught her balance a few steps away, her face twisted with pain and rage, grace-light shining on her calf. But Castiel was rising, his blade held up in front of him, stabbing toward her chest. She was wide open, unable to block or dodge.

Nakir jumped between them, her arms outstretched. Cas saw her face: eyes wide, mouth set. She didn’t say anything, but he sensed fear.

Cas dropped his blade an inch from her chest and flung himself to the side, changing direction mid-lunge. The movement grated on his body, but he was unwilling to kill Nakir. He hit the ground shoulder first and rolled, coming back up in a low stance, his hands open in front of him.

Nakir turned, unhurt, her expression surprised. Shamsiel hissed, tightening her grip on her blade as she limped a step forward, standing between Nakir and Castiel. He watched them, painfully aware of his fallen blade, his empty hands.

“Shamsiel,” Nakir said softly. “Let’s return to Heaven.”

The other hesitated. Castiel hoped they would flee. Shamsiel's leg wound was not enough of an advantage for him when he was outnumbered and disarmed.

Nakir toed his blade—lying on the cracked street—then kicked it across to where Castiel stood. He frowned, then crouched to pick it up.

“Nakir,” Shamsiel protested.

The other angel turned her back. “Let’s go,” she said.

Finally, Shamsiel nodded, and the two angels disappeared.

Cas waited a moment before straightening out of his stance. He looked upwards, brow furrowed, tucking his blade away. Then he set off down the road, in search of a car that could take him back to the bunker, and hopefully Sam.

[|][|][|]

Dean finally had service. The dark street had eventually brought them to a cluster of modern, two-story houses not unlike their old house in Lawrence. During the walk, Dean had tried to catch Mary up on some of the things she had missed, but they ended up talking about angels the whole time. Mary was amazed.

“I always knew angels would watch over you,” she told him.

Dean couldn’t help his smile. “Yeah, but most of them are dicks.”

“Castiel isn’t.”

He had told her how much Cas had done for them, how he was part of the family. Dean nodded. “No, he’s not. Well, usually,” he added with a smirk. He checked his phone. “Ah, finally!”

He tried Sam first, but got no answer. His heart ached for his little brother; Sam thought he was dead. They both knew that pain too well.

Cas answered on the third ring, just when Dean was worrying that his friend might not pick up. When he did, he sounded cautious and a bit hostile, as though he thought this might be a joke.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Cas!” Dean said, grinning broadly. “Man, it’s good to hear your voice!”

“Dean?” the angel asked. “I don’t—How are you alive?”

Dean spun around, giving Mary the thumbs-up. Cas sounded good, his mother was here, and he’d find Sam, probably in the library looking up ways to bring Dean back. He felt _happy_.

“Long story short, Amara knew about the bomb as soon as I got there. She snapped Chuck in and they had a nice family reunion, they both decided to go take a vacation, and I’m here with Mom. We need a ride.”

There was a long silence. Which stretched longer and longer until Dean asked, “Cas?”

“I’m here, Dean. But I’m not sure I understood your story. Who’s with you?”

“My mom. I’ll tell you when I see you. Is Sam there?”

“No,” the angel’s voice turned serious, and Dean’s heart suddenly felt cold.

“Why? What happened?” he asked. Mary’s smile vanished.

“I’m not sure,” Cas said. “When we got back to the bunker, there was someone there. She banished me. I’m on my way back now.”

“Wait, Cas, hold on,” Dean said, his full attention now on the angel. “Who was there?”

“A woman. I didn’t get a good look before she banished me.”

“I called Sam a minute ago. He didn’t answer. Don’t go back in the bunker alone.”

“Dean, I appreciate your concern. But Sam is there. And I am an angel. I’m almost back. Her sigil didn’t send me far.”

“Fine. We’ll get back there as quick as we can.”

Cas hung up, and Dean stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

“We have to get back to the bunker,” Dean said. Mary was looking at him with worry.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Someone was there when they got there. Cas didn’t know who, but she’s probably the reason Sam didn’t answer his phone. We gotta get back there.”

Mary nodded, her face serious, and suddenly Dean saw the hunter she had been so long ago. “I’ll find out where we are.” She strode away, and it took Dean two shocked steps to realize where she was going.

“Mom! Hey, wait.” She stopped and turned back. “We, uh. We don’t need to ask anyone. I have a map on my phone.”

“Oh,” Mary said, looking at the device with renewed interest. “It has a map, too?”

“Yeah, it has a lotta stuff.” He pulled up the map. “It’s got GPS, so it can tell us where we are.”

“Good,” Mary said. “You do that, I’ll get us a car.”

She walked away. Dean stood on the patched sidewalk, looking from his mother’s retreating back to his phone. The absurdity this was beginning to hit him. She had died in 1983. She had no clue about anything that had changed in the world since then. That was 30 years she had completely missed. At the rate the world had changed, it was like dropping a pilgrim into the middle of the space race. Uh, no offense.

He looked back down at his phone, hoping they weren’t somewhere in Maine or something. They needed to get back to the bunker _now_. They couldn’t afford a long drive in a stolen car. Finally, the GPS picked up a signal. With the weird sun activity, he wasn’t surprised that it took longer. He stared at his phone, not believing what it was telling him.

They were in Lawrence. Just a few miles from their old house. Which didn’t make any sense, because Mary’s tombstone was in Indiana, so why would Amara have stuck them in Kansas? But he wasn’t going to complain. This meant they were only a few hours from the bunker.

“Dean?” Mary’s voice startled him out of his contemplation of the map.

She was standing at the end of a driveway three houses down, her arms folded in the sleeves of his jacket, looking frustrated.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, hurrying over.

Mary frowned at the car in the driveway, a shiny Chevy Volt that couldn’t be more than a year old.

“The cars are different than they were,” she said. “I don’t—I don’t want to set off an alarm. Could you…” She trailed off.

“Oh, sure,” Dean said awkwardly. “Uh, here.” He handed over his phone. “You, uh, touch the screen to work it.”

Mary stayed put, investigating the phone while Dean scoped out a different car. He’d never liked hybrids. Cars should run on gas; you should be able to hear them purr and growl.

The car he picked was a respectable 2008 Nissan sitting in a freshly paved driveway. The doors weren’t even locked. He popped out the panel beneath the wheel and groped in the dark for the wires. Mary got in the passenger side, looking intently at his phone.

“What does this do?” she asked, simultaneously pressing the power button and the home button. The phone make a clicking sound.

Dean peered up from beneath the wheel. “Oh, that takes a picture of the screen. It took me three months to figure that one out. I hate phones.”

Mary shrugged, pulling on her seatbelt. “It only has four buttons.”

Dean touched the wires together, getting a few sparks before the engine finally turned over. “Yes!” he muttered, throwing the car into reverse. They hit the road and Dean grinned, pointing them toward Lebanon. He didn’t even need a map to get there from here.

Mary was still staring intently at the phone, prodding it experimentally. They drove in slightly awkward silence. Dean was filled with questions, but suddenly, he didn’t know what to say. This was the first time in his life he’d had an uninterrupted, extended period of time to talk to his mother. He felt at a loss.

Mary put the phone down on the console between them. “I’m going to have to spend more time with that,” she said. “But right now, I’d rather talk to my son.”

He met her gaze, then looked back at the road. “Yeah.”

Mary’s eyes crinkled, going soft and warm. “I want to know everything.”

“Ha. I’m not sure you do.”

“Dean.” She frowned.

“I, uh. I’m sorry. Sam and I, we haven’t…really…had the life you wanted for us.”

“I know you’re hunters.” Her tone was grim. Dean glanced over again. “Amara implied that. And even if she hadn’t…you have the look.”

“Oh.” The car filled with silence, even as they passed under a streetlight that threw everything into sharp contrast. “Mom—”

“You don’t need to apologize.” She seemed to make an effort to smile. “Your father made many choices I don’t agree with.”

“It wasn’t Dad’s fault—”

“Dean, you were a child. You didn’t have any say.” She paused. “And besides, you are a great hunter.”

The darkness hid his blush, but he thought Mary knew anyway.

“So, what do you want to tell me?”

Everything. The honest answer was that he wanted Mary to know everything she would have known if she had been alive, hunting with him and Sam all these years. But that included so much crap. He didn’t want to throw the troubles of his life on her the minute she came back. How would she look at him? What would she think? He had dealt with demons, killed angels, gone to hell, died, been brought back, hunted, tortured, broken. Who would want to be mother to someone with all that baggage?

“Dean?” It’s like she was speaking from far away.

“I want to hear about you, Mom,” he said. “Where have you been all this time? Do you remember your heaven?”

Mary sighed. “I remember some things about it. Just details. My heaven was warm. The stars were out. It was nice.”

“Were you lonely?”

“I don’t think so. But it also didn’t seem like so long.”

Dean nodded. Hell extended time. It made sense that heaven compressed it. “Could you see anything that was happening? You know, down here, I mean.”

“No. Unfortunately.” She gave a wry smile. “I tried asking the angels to let me. I can’t believe hunters never knew about them. They wouldn’t let me, though. I think they thought it would cause problems.” She winked.

Dean chuckled. “Our family does that. Especially for angels.” He felt a pang for Cas.

“How’s Sam?” Mary asked.

Dean’s laugh was half relief. “He’s good. Tall. Really tall.”

“Taller than you?”

“Oh yeah. I’m ‘the short one.’”

She smiled. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“I know, right.” For a moment they laughed together, until the humor faded and they sat in the dark, the car purring beneath them.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Was D—Did you see Dad at all?”

A pause. He saw her watching him from the corner of his eye. “No,” she said finally. “And…. I’m glad about that.”

Dean looked at her with surprise.

“You might not remember,” she said. “You were only four. But your father and I didn’t have the happiest marriage. He didn’t belong in my heaven.”

“Oh.”

Mary sighed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to keep this first conversation on happy topics. I’ll drill you for the hard details later. But I’m just happy to see you. My son.”

He couldn’t not smile when she said that. “Me too. There’s stuff I don’t want to talk about yet either.” He shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

“I understand. Plus we need your brother here.”

“Yeah, we do. He better not have done something stupid.”

“Why would he have?”

“Uh. Well. We kinda thought I was going to die today. So, we said goodbye.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s heart twisted again. “Hey, it’s okay. S’not the first time.”

“It’s not?”

“Oh man,” he muttered. “We’ve had weird lives.”

“I gathered.”

“But let’s talk about that later?” he asked. The numerous times he and Sam had parted ways or died were not ‘happy topics.’

“We better.”

They lapsed into silence, but it was not uncomfortable this time.

“Is Cas a happy topic?” she asked. The car lurched over a pothole Dean couldn’t avoid.

“Sorry,” Dean said quickly. “Yeah. We've known him for years now. He’s—” He looked to Mary. “He’s basically— He’s part of the family.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you’ve found such a good friend.”

“Yeah. Me too.” But it was more than that. Just today he had told Cas that he was their brother. That he was a Winchester. But he wasn’t Mary’s son. She didn’t even know him. If they didn’t like each other, if this caused a rift in the family Dean was only just starting to get back…. He couldn’t choose between Cas and Mary. He just couldn’t.

“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed some angels, but unfortunately all the ones we know are dead. I considered naming my OCs Jesus and Moses, but in the end I decided we didn't need more white guys.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	4. In the Screaming Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit of a longer chapter. ^_^ It kind of got away from me, and I decided to leave it as it is instead of breaking it up into shorter chapters. Enjoy!

Sam’s shoulder ached. It burned and felt frozen and useless and he glared out the plane window. They had been in the air for almost two hours now, and he hadn’t said another word to Toni. For her part, she sat stiffly in her chair, face set, glaring at the opposite side of the plane. She seemed just as unhappy as he was.

The plane bumped through a patch of turbulence as he wondered where Dean was. If he knew that Sam had been kidnapped and was being taken to England. Dean would come looking for him. Sam wouldn’t be there to keep him calm on the plane ride.

He sighed.

“I’m sorry about your shoulder,” Toni said, breaking the silence. He raised an eyebrow. “I did warn you.”

He grunted.

“Out of curiosity, why did you think I wasn’t going to shoot?”

Sam gave a dry laugh. “Men of Letters tend to be more book than bite.”

Toni gazed pointedly around at the plane. “Clearly,” she said. “And I don’t think that’s the expression.”

He shrugged, then regretted it. “Why’d they send you?”

Toni didn’t answer for a moment, and Sam thought they were going to return to the silence of the previous two hours. Shame, really. The more she talked, the more likely he was to find a weakness.

“Because they knew I’d bring you in,” Toni said finally, making Sam’s drooping head whip back around to her.

“You’re that good?” Sam asked, smirking.

“You doubt it?”

“No offense, but you don’t look like you’d be able to kidnap two grown hunters.”

“I prefer the word ‘arrest.’”

“For what crime?”

“Let’s not start this, Sam. You’ve caused damage. To your country, to the world. There are no Men of Letters left in the United States to bring you to justice, so we had to intervene.”

“Actually, there are Men of—”

“I’m well aware of your Legacy status. But I stand by what I said. There are no Men of Letters left in your country.”

Sam bristled, but kept it to himself. “So what’s gonna happen when we land?” he asked.

“The old men would like to interview you.”

Sam highly doubted that was it. “And then?”

“Depending on their impressions of you, they’ll make a decision.”

“Of what? What’s gonna be my _sentence_?” Sam demanded. Paranormal vigilante justice. It was more absurd than driving back and forth across the country hunting monsters. How was this his life?

“We can’t let you back into the world,” Toni said. “No one would be safe.”

“We've saved the world! It wouldn’t be here without us! We _stopped_ the Darkness. We saved God. _God._ We fought _against_ the Leviathan, and Abaddon, and all the other monsters that wanted to destroy the world. While you Men of Letters were just sitting with your books. We were saving lives!”

“Don’t bluff, Sam,” she snarled. “You’ve killed as many as you’ve saved. And your actions have resulted in the deaths of even more.”

“That’s still more than you.”

“You’re right. I’m not wasting my life chasing ghost stories. I’m spending my days learning about things that are bigger. Learning how to ‘kidnap two grown hunters.’”

“Well it’s not enough. I’ll get away,” Sam promised.

“Your actions from here on could force our hand,” she said, sitting back and folding her arms. “Consider them well.”

“Do I get an attorney?” he snapped.

“Come now, Sam. Your legal education should have given you the skills to defend yourself. Stanford is a good school.”

His eyes narrowed, head tipping toward her. “How do you know about Stanford?”

“It’s my job to know,” she said coolly.

“You’ve been studying me?”

“Both of you. I was assigned to take you and Dean in.”

“So you can execute us?” he asked. “The Men of Letters.”

“We’ve had to make harder decisions in the past. You are just one man.”

Sam turned back to the window. “You’ve got no idea.”

The hum of the plane filled the tense silence.

“Do you have any family?” Sam asked suddenly. For a while only the plane answered.

“Yes.”

“Parents? Siblings? Kids?”

She shot him a nasty look, like she didn’t want to hear where he was going, but was too curious not to answer. “A sister.”

Well that was right up Sam’s alley. “What’s her name?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m just asking.”

“She’s dead,” Toni said, staring hard at Sam. “So please, continue with your well-reasoned argument about why I should let you go for the good of my sister.”

Sam dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“I am, believe me. I’ve lost Dean enough times. I thought I’d lost him today.”

“Why?”

“He was going to try to stop the Darkness,” Sam said, shrugging with his good shoulder. “No one walks out of that alive.”

“No one except Dean Winchester. You two are always the exception.”

“How’d she die?” Sam asked, turning up the sympathy eyes, genuinely curious.

But Toni narrowed her eyes. “You’re the one on trial here.”

“I get that. But we’re not even halfway to England. You have a better way to pass the time?”

“I was thinking of watching a movie.”

“Good. I’ve been wanting a long, uninterrupted chance to break out of these cuffs.” He watched her steadily.

“Good luck. Not breaking is part of their charm. No one has ever gotten out of them without the key.”

“Well, I am a Winchester. We’re the—”

“Shut up.” They stared at each other for a long moment, neither moving. “Are you trying to make yourself sympathetic?” she asked. “If I get to know you better, I’ll help you escape? Is that it?”

“As nice as that would be, I’m more realistic,” Sam said. “You’re indoctrinated. You wouldn’t turn on them. I get that. I just want to know why you’re doing this. Why you're letting yourself be controlled.”

Toni’s fingers jerked toward the discarded bracelet, which she had hung from the armrest of her seat. Her eyes were wide, fixed furiously on his face. But the moment her hand settled around the bracelet, her shoulders jumped back and her anger evaporated. She slumped, leaving the engraved band swinging from the armrest.

“Damn it.” She muttered, then turned hard eyes to his face and spat, “Watch how you speak to me. I _can_ silence you.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, leaning back. “Sorry. I just thought—”

“There’s a shock,” she muttered, and it was such an infantile barb that Sam was taken aback. She had seemed above that.

“Look, I get it,” he said. “This has to be stressful—”

Toni fixed him with a sneer worthy of Lucifer. “Don’t patronize me,” she said, sitting back and crossing her legs. “We’re both above that.”

Sam watched her, absently twisting his good arm in the cuffs. True to her confidence, there was no give to them. Silence stretched between them for a while.

“There’s no parachutes?” he asked suddenly.

Toni frowned, barely glancing at him. “What?”

“You said there are no parachutes,” Sam said. “And that even if I kill you, the plane won’t stop.” His eyes were sharp on her face, calculating. “What did you do?”

“What are you talking about?”

Sam scooted to the edge of his seat. “What did you do to piss off the guys up top so bad they’d send you on a suicide mission? What’d you do to make yourself expendable?”

He’d been expecting a rise, but Toni’s expression remained cool, almost disinterested. “Existed, I suppose,” she said thoughtfully. “We’ve never quite got along.”

He straightened up in the uncomfortable airplane seat. “That’s weird.”

“Not really. You know how it is with men in power.”

“I just didn’t think you’d have a problem with it.”

“Just like you thought I wouldn’t pull the trigger,” she smirked.

Sam tipped his head. “Fair enough.”

[|][|][|]

Cas was already in the bunker when they got back. He was bent over the table in the war room, looking at something. There was no sign of Sam, but there was a large, oblong pool of blood on the floor.

“Cas?” Dean called urgently as he led Mary down the stairs. She was looking around at the bunker, taking in the red stain.

Cas turned. “Dean.” He strode forward and pulled the hunter into a hug. Dean stiffened, and then hugged him back, pressing his chin against the angel’s shoulder. Cas held him tighter than he had in the graveyard, and Dean thought he felt a tremor go through his friend, but he wasn’t sure. He pulled away, looking at Cas, who stepped back.

“Hello, Mary,” he said, his eyes following her down the rest of the stairs.

“Cas, this is my mom. Mom, this is Cas,” Dean said unnecessarily, raking concerned eyes over Cas. The angel looked fine, if a little worn.

“Nice to meet you,” Cas said, glancing uncertainly from Mary to Dean.

She nodded. “You too, Castiel. Is that blood yours?”

“No,” Cas said. “That was here when I got back. It’s Sam’s.”

“Where is he?” Dean asked, his voice sharp with fear.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I was about to perform a tracking spell on those.” He was pointing to a spot on the floor several feet from the puddle, where there were a few small drops of red. “I assume they belong to the woman who ambushed us.”

Dean wished she had left behind more blood. He saw the burned sigil on the wall; it was different than the one they knew.

“The blood she used for the sigil is unusable,” Cas continued. “But those drops are enough. I’ll find her.”

Dean turned back. “Can’t you find Sam?”

“I tried. He’s warded by something powerful.”

“Which spell are you using?” Mary asked. Her voice had changed, serious and focused. “Long distance or pinpoint?”

Cas blinked. “I’m using an Enochian spell.”

“I don’t know any of those,” Mary said.

They all turned back to the table, where Cas had set up a bowl and a paper map of the world. He dipped two fingers into the concoction in the bowl—they came away dripping red—and touched each corner of the map. Then he spoke a steady Enochian incantation, and the map burst into flame.

No one flinched, and the flames died down quickly. Cas pulled the last remaining piece of map out of the ashes and held it up. It was a smudged blue scrap of the Atlantic Ocean.

“What the hell?” Dean said.

“She’s taking him overseas,” Mary concluded, and Cas nodded.

“But why? And how?” Dean asked.

“On a plane,” Cas answered.

“I know that. I mean how did this woman get Sam onto an airplane? He wouldn’t’ve gone with her.”

“I don’t know,” Cas said. “That sigil shows she has arcane knowledge. Maybe she used a spell.”

“No spell I’ve heard of,” Mary said.

“She only said a few words before she banished me, but I believe she had a British accent,” Cas said. “She may be taking him somewhere in England.”

Dean closed his eyes. “Okay. Okay. The flight to England is how long?” He looked at Cas.

“Depends what airport they flew from,” the angel answered. “It could be anywhere from 6 to 9 hours, not including the time it would take to drive to the airport or wait for transfers.”

Dean looked at the scrap of map and did the math in his head. “So they’re probably about halfway across the ocean.” He strode to the table, took a seat in front of Sam’s laptop, and pulled it open, typing as he spoke. “Sam’s gonna be doing everything to get out, but while they’re in the air there’s not much he can do. Unless he hijacks the plane. Which he probably won’t do. Yeah. Probably. I hope they’re on a private plane. Actually no. Tiny flimsy deathtraps.”

“Dean,” Cas said, pulling him out of his dark muttering.

“Right. Almost got it. Yeah. The next flight to London leaves at 11 am from Kansas City International. It’s only a four hour drive from here. We can get two hours of sleep and get there with plenty of time.”

Cas and Mary each peered over his shoulder, frowning for very different reasons.

“That flight makes several stops,” Cas said. “Is there one that goes directly?”

“It’s hard to get from Kansas to England,” Dean said, pulling up a new tab to check.

“You’re an angel,” Mary said thoughtfully. “Can you fly us there?”

There was an awkward pause, Mary looking at Cas while Cas looked at Dean and Dean stared fixedly at the computer.

“I can’t,” Cas said finally. “My wings are…not up for that journey. Especially with passengers.”

“What’s wrong with your wings?”

“Mom, there’s enough food here to last you a few days,” Dean said, half aware of the flight listings in front of him, and half aware of the tension rolling off the angel behind him. “And money. You can go buy yourself some clothes in town.”

“Hold on,” Mary said sharply. “We’re catching a flight tomorrow, aren’t we? We’ll have to leave before anything opens.”

“Well, yeah. But you’re not coming.”

“Excuse me?” She was using her hunter voice again, tough and disbelieving. He wondered if it was genetic. “I am definitely coming.”

“Mom—”

“No, Dean. You’re my son. Sam’s my son. He’s in trouble halfway across the world and you’re not leaving to rescue him without me.”

Dean looked to Cas for help, but the angel was staying cautiously silent.

“Mom,” Dean tried to reason, turning fully away from the screen. “You’ve been dead for a long time. You’re probably rusty, and everything’s changed. Cas and I can do this.”

“I’m sure you can,” Mary said more softly, looking at each of them. “But I’m also coming with you. That’s Sam's blood on the floor, his kidnapper’s trail, and I’m going with you to find him. He’s my Sammy, too.”

Dean couldn’t think of any way to argue with that. He’d never had to face this argument. So he nodded, looking at Cas. “Alright. We’ll leave at 5. Better to be early, with security and everything. That’s gonna be tough.”

“Security?” Mary asked.

“Yeah. Takes hours to get through it sometimes.”

“Why would it take so long?”

Dean looked up at her, utterly taken aback. He couldn’t think of what to say. The gaps in her knowledge were monumental.

“I’ve missed something big,” Mary realized, seeing his expression.

“A lot has changed in the world,” Cas said.

She nodded, still thinking, and Dean pulled himself away from wondering how to tell his mother about 9/11/2001.

Instead he pulled out his phone. “We can’t bring any weapons on the plane,” he said. “I’m calling Crowley.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Cas asked. “Crowley is adrift after losing his throne. We can’t predict what he might do.”

“We need all the help we can get,” Dean said firmly. “He can get us weapons. We don’t know anything about these people, Cas. No way are we going in empty-handed.”

The angel sighed, watching Dean raise his phone to his ear.

“Who’s Crowley?” Mary asked Cas.

“The former King of Hell.”

She blinked. Dean glared at him, then spoke into the phone. “Yeah, yeah. I’m alive, world’s safe. Hooray. Come to the bunker.”

“He’s a demon,” Mary said, very carefully. Cas nodded. “Why is Dean on the phone with a demon?”

“They have a complicated relationship,” Cas told her.

“Then we’ll just freaking summon you, you dick,” Dean snapped at the phone. “Fine!”

He hung up. Mary took a deep breath before saying, “Dean?”

Dean turned, setting his phone back on the table. “Huh?” he asked.

She stepped close, towering over him. “Why were you speaking to a demon? Are you dealing with him? Does he hold your contract?” Her hand groped unconsciously at her hip, as though reaching for a weapon she no longer carried. “Where can I find him?”

“Whoa, Mom!” Dean said. “Hold on. Crowley’s a dick, but he’s okay. Probably. I don’t think he's gonna attack us.”

“He’s a demon,” Mary said, and she laid her hand on his forehead, checking for fever.

“Mom!” He pulled his head away. “I know. But we’ve known him for a while. I know how he works.”

Her eyes narrowed, arms folded over her chest. “You can’t trust a demon, Dean. Ever. I can’t believe you would. If it wasn’t for them—”

“I don’t trust Crowley!” Dean protested. He felt small, arguing with his mother. “But we need him.”

She shook her head and laid a hand on his cheek. “Demons cost me everything,” she said. “They stole thirty-three years of your life from me. They stole Sammy from me. My sons are grown up, and I’ve barely met them. Because of demons. Promise me you’re not dealing with them, Dean.”

He stared up at her, feeling a lump in his throat that wanted so badly to rise into his eyes. He stood up and hugged her. Mary’s arms slowly lifted to hold him back.

“I’m not gonna be stupid, Mom,” Dean said gruffly into her shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

She gave a soft squeeze. “I know,” she said. “But you are reckless.”

“I’m not—” Dean tried to protest, but Mary raised her eyebrows and cut him off.

“You’re my son, and you’re a hunter,” she said.

“Yeah alright,” Dean conceded. “But Crowley’s not coming anyway. Bastard.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Mary said. She turned to Cas, who had been hovering uncertainly behind them. “We have an angel with us.”

Dean met Cas’s eyes, but his friend quickly looked away.

“Now that I think about it,” Mary said, looking down and patting her nightgown. “I do need clothes. You probably don’t have anything here for me though.”

“Uh,” Dean said. “Probably not? I’ve never looked.”

“I’ll go look,” she sighed, heading for the door. But she paused, looking back. “And if you leave without me, Dean….” She let the threat trail off, fixing Dean with a look that said the rest. He shivered as she left the room.

“Would I be used to that if I’d grown up with it?” he asked Cas. The angel just looked sad. “What’s up?” Dean asked him.

“Nothing,” Cas said. He took the seat next to Dean. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He gave a small smile, pausing. “But what happened? How is she alive?”

“Amara said she wanted to give me what I wanted most,” Dean said. “I dunno how she got Mom from that.” He explained everything that had happened, up to the part where he’d finally reached Cas on the phone. It felt nice to just sit and talk with him. They were in a strange stasis. There was nothing they could do for Sam until the morning. He felt caged and stressed, but the emotional tumult of the day was starting to hit him. He wanted to sleep, and he also wanted to fight something.

“Do you think we can smuggle the summoning ingredients onto the plane?” Dean asked.

“I believe so,” Cas replied. “And those we can’t bring we can most likely find when we land.”

Dean nodded. He pulled up the airline page again and selected their flight.

“You should go to bed,” Cas said finally.

“I know,” Dean said, typing in the number for one of their stolen credit cards. Buying the plane tickets would max out the card. Oh well. They had more where that came from. “Crazy day.”

“Yes,” Cas said.

Dean frowned at him, finalizing the transaction. “Hey, are you okay?” The angel had sounded subdued.

“I’m fine,” he said, then paused. “Dean. What you said to me earlier. I know that things are different now. It was the end of the world. Humans tend to speak rashly under such circumstances.”

“Hang on, what are you talking about?” Dean shut the laptop and faced him, frowning deeply.

“In the car,” the angel said, as if this explained everything.

Dean stared at him. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but his words to Cas came out harsher than he’d intended. “Cas, what I said in the car wasn’t because of the end of the world. It was true. You’re our brother.”

“Yes,” Cas said, his tone suggesting that Dean was not speaking rationally. “But Mary is not my mother, and I understand that that changes the situation.” He shrugged a little, looking away.

“What?” Dean was horrified. His worst fear had been Mary rejecting Cas. But now Cas was the one running away. “No, Cas. I’m not choosing between you and Mom.” Even in the tension of this moment, his heart leapt a little at being able to use that word. “And she likes you! Nothing’s changed.”

Cas sighed. “I appreciate you saying that.”

Dean studied him for a moment. His friend looked drawn and tired. “We should get some sleep. Or rest. Or whatever you’re gonna do,” he said, getting up. “Hafta be up early tomorrow.”

He clapped Cas on the shoulder as the angel nodded.

“Good night, Dean,” he said.

“Night, Cas.”

[|][|][|]

Cas sat on the edge of his bed. This had been his room during his previous stays in the bunker. He didn’t use it for the usual human purposes, but it was nice to have a space of his own. Not that he had many possessions to keep in it. Just the clothes and toothbrush he’d had as a human. He liked having somewhere that was his. A place he could retreat to, not that he often got the luxury of coming here.

His bed was neatly made, creased only where he was currently sitting on it. He stared at his hands, his knees, the polished shine on his shoes.

Finally Cas stood up and smoothed over the blankets. Then he left, returning to the war room, where the ingredients for his spell still sat on the table. He placed a new map carefully by the bowl, touched each corner, and spoke the incantation. This time the remaining piece of paper showed a section of Great Britain. He turned to fetch a map of the island, to pinpoint the intruder’s location more exactly, and froze when he saw Mary, sitting at the kitchen table. She had Sam’s laptop in front of her and a look of deep concentration on her face. Cautiously, Cas approached her.

“Hi Castiel,” she said, carefully clicking and dragging the mouse across the table. She had found clothes apparently; instead of the nightgown, she now wore pants and a t-shirt. The pants were too large, held up by a length of rope.

“Hello,” he said. “I was checking their location.”

She nodded. “I figured.”

He watched her for a moment, shifting awkwardly. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

“I’ve been relaxing in Heaven for thirty-three years. I’m wide awake,” she said as she yawned. He frowned doubtfully, and Mary laughed. “Okay, fine. I’m staking out the door so you two can’t leave without me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I don’t want to take that chance,” she said, sitting back and smiling at him. “Not that I don’t trust you.”

“No, I understand. I think Dean might have been considering it.”

Nodding, Mary said, “It’s the kind of thing hunters do. Plus, I’ve got so much to catch up on.” She gestured at the computer.

Cas smiled faintly. That he understood. “When I came to Earth, I felt the same way,” he said. “Much has changed. Humans are always changing.”

“Not me,” Mary said. Her face was lit from below by the light of the computer. “My sons are grown and I’m the same.”

“It is normal for parents to feel that way,” he said.

Mary smiled sadly. “Nothing’s ever normal in my family.”

Cas didn’t know what to say. He nodded. “You have great sons.”

The smile seemed to turn sadder.

“I wish I had known them, Castiel,” she said.

“Please call me ‘Cas,’” he said, and Mary looked up. “‘Castiel’ is not— Only enemies call me ‘Castiel’ now.”

“Oh.”

“It’s the name Dean gave me,” he said, attempting a smile. “I'd like you to use it.”

“Alright,” Mary said. “Nice to meet you, Cas.”

“You too, Mary.”

Cas went to the pile of maps the Men of Letters had stored. He removed one of Great Britain, thinking about Dean and Sam and Mary.

He laid the map beside the bowl and performed the spell a third time. The remaining piece showed Holy Island. Cas sighed and sat down in front of the spell. That was in Wales, and quite a distance from the airport they would be flying into. Dean would not be pleased.

“Cas?” Mary called softly.

He looked around, watching her pick up the laptop and carry it toward him. She set it down and pointed to the screen, where a pop-up announced “low battery.”

“How do I charge the battery?” she asked.

So he got up to help her look for Sam’s charger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picked Holy Island because A) It seemed fitting (Like Salvation, Hope Springs, Elysian Fields, etc.), and B) Because I looked at a map of ley lines in the UK and a whole bunch of them converge on Holy Island, Wales. I feel like the Men of Letters would be aware of ley lines in the world, and would set up a base in a hotspot so they could tap into that power.  
> I know Toni said she was part of the London Chapter, but in this fic, they aren't confined to only London. Maybe they needed more space. Maybe they wanted a summer home. Who knows. ;)  
> Also! Extra-special thank you to my Beta, [thecadenceandthecacophany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecadenceandthecacophony), for the idea of having Cas tell Mary to call him 'Cas,' not 'Castiel.' You're awesome!


	5. Starving, Stoking, Stirring

Sam could see land out of the plane’s window: the coastline of Ireland, and beyond it, the British mainland. He was out of time.

“Almost there,” Toni said.

“Does it bother you?” Sam asked, ignoring her sigh. “That you’re sending me to die?”

“Not necessarily,” she said. “If you cooperate, the old men might make a decision more favorable to you. We do still need to capture Dean.”

“I’m not gonna help you catch him,” Sam said.

“We both know you don’t need to do anything,” Toni said. “He will come after you. It’s another Winchester trademark.”

“Yeah, well, so is getting away from people like you. Beating you.”

“I’m going to put the Dampener back on you when we get off the plane. Don’t make me do it earlier.”

He huffed, glaring out the window. “Why do you hate it so much?”

“You don’t?”

“’Course I do,” Sam said. “That thing _controlled_ me.” He shook his head. “But you seem to hate it personally.”

“Please, continue psychoanalyzing me,” Toni said loftily.

“Ha, fine. I will. You’re just like Dean. I can see right through you.”

Toni folded her arms. “I’m nothing like your brother.”

But Sam was nodding before she’d finished her sentence. “Yeah. No yeah. You act tough and use all the witty banter, but you hate this. I heard you before. You don’t just hate that Dampener. You hate using it on someone. Why is that?” Her face was stony, but that was how he knew he was right. “Did someone use it on you? No, that wouldn’t do it.”

His mind was racing. If Dean had to use that on someone, strip their will away from them, force them to do what he wanted…. He would hate it. He would hate it more than anything. Because he would remember exactly how it had felt to have his own will pushed down, crushed beneath years of suppressed questions and barked orders. He would hate to be doing that to someone else.

“Who was it?” Sam asked. His eyes went wider, following the trail of his own epiphany. “Was it your dad? Your mom? An uncle?”

“That’s enough,” Toni said. Her voice was quite calm. “You don’t know anything about me, Sam Winchester. Don’t assume that you know anything at all.”

“Then tell me yourself,” he asked.

“I don’t owe you my story,” she replied.

“You’re bringing me to my death,” Sam said softly. “It’s all I’m asking for.”

They sat in silence. Sam waited. He knew if he pushed, she’d never say anything.

Toni didn’t change body position, her posture stayed rigid and her face angry, but when she spoke, her voice was neutral.

“Both,” she said. “Mum and Dad. Dad more, I suppose. But I always hated Mum most. She could have always done something. But she didn’t. It was just me and Abby.”

She paused, giving him a long look, as though wondering if he was going to interrupt. Sam stayed silent, watching her with sympathetic eyes. She sighed and continued.

“We would pretend we were Merry and Pippin, or Lucy and Susan, or werewolves, or fairies. Anything other than us. Our favorite movie was _The Wolf Man_. We used to sneak out of bed to watch it after they went to sleep. It’s a miracle they didn’t catch us.”

The plane creaked and started its descent. Sam’s ears popped as he listened raptly.

“Our parents died when I was 10. Abby disappeared after that and I grew up with my grandparents. My father was a Legacy, but he never joined. I did as soon as I was old enough. I tried to track Abby down. That’s how I know she’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said sincerely. Toni sighed. “I know what that’s like,” he continued. “Family’s hard.”

“I wasn’t sorry when they died,” Toni said. “I was sorry Abby didn’t take me with her.”

The roar of the plane grew too loud for Sam to respond, but he wasn’t sure how to anyway. He was the one who had left. Dean had stayed with Dad and Sam had gone off to college.

The wheels touched down with a jerk and thump that knocked Sam against his seat and made his shoulder throb. He shut his eyes, swallowing hard to try to relieve the pressure in his ears.

Toni reached for the bracelet.

“Wait,” Sam said. He met her eyes imploringly. “You don’t have to use it. I know I can’t get away.”

She hesitated, her fingers tracing over the edge of the band. She clenched her jaw and he saw the tendons in her neck jump.

“I can’t take that chance.”

[|][|][|]

Mary slept on the drive to the airport. Dean had trouble watching the road instead of marveling at her peaceful, sleeping face in the rearview mirror. He’d been very surprised when he had found her and Cas sitting together in the war room, bent over Sam’s computer, talking comfortably with a web browser open in front of them. Cas had been explaining that the world’s bee population had been declining each year, causing problems for world agriculture. Mary had seemed engrossed. When they’d finally gotten in the car, she’d hopped in the back, saying she wanted a nap.

Dean’s heart rate increased the closer they got to the airport. His foot grew heavier on the gas pedal, purely because he knew if he didn’t keep them moving fast, he’d lose his nerve. Not even his mother’s presence could ease the fear in his chest.

Cas was shooting him glances every few seconds. Maybe he had learned to recognize the way Dean drove when he was nervous.

“We’ll find him,” he said eventually, watching the speedometer hover at 90 along the still-dark highway.

Dean nodded, but didn’t speak.

By the time they got to the airport, Dean’s whole body felt like a live wire, and he was covered in a layer of sweat. He paid for a week of parking in the lot (which just about maxed out another credit card, stupid freaking _thieves_ who ran the airport), and promised Baby that they’d be back soon. Then he let Cas lead the way into the airport.

The only weapon they’d have on the plane was Cas’s angel blade, which he didn’t actually keep in his sleeve; he manifested it along his arm and let it drop into his hand for convenience. Other angels had other ways of summoning their blades, Cas had explained. Balthazar had always kept his on his hip, while Gabriel had been rumored to manifest his blade from any part of his body, though Castiel had never witnessed this. Mary had listened to this explanation intently. She had even called him ‘Cas,’ which made Dean hope that they would become good friends. He needed them to.

Dean wished he could bring a gun, a knife, even a hammer, with them. But they weren’t checking any luggage, and they’d never get real weapons through security. All he had with him was a backpack with clothes, toiletries, and fake IDs and passports for him and Sam, disguised inside a couple of books. He had spent a good half hour crafting an ID for Mary right before they left. It was one of his best.

There were not many people waiting to get on the 11am flight from Kansas City to Charlotte. The plane could carry a just over 100 passengers, but most of its seats would be empty. Once they got to Charlotte, they would transfer to a flight to Tampa, and then make a second transfer onto the trans-Atlantic flight that would take them to London’s Heathrow Airport. Dean wished he had eaten breakfast, so that he could throw up and relieve the pressure in his chest and throat.

Security let them pass without incident. The tired-looking flight attendants welcomed them half-heartedly, which just about fit Dean’s mood. If they had been enthusiastic, he might have punched them.

They took their three seats near the middle of the plane. Cas had the window seat, staring out at the strips and taxiing airplanes. Mary pulled the magazine from the seat in front of her and started reading it intently. Dean gripped the armrests of his chair very hard, staring straight ahead.

His whole body lurched when the plane started moving. Shutting his eyes, Dean forced himself to breathe, trying to imagine the plane was his car. It didn’t work at all. They began to gather speed.

“Dean?” Mary asked suddenly, her voice concerned. “Are you okay?”

Dean was gripping his armrests so tightly he could feel his pulse beat through his fingertips.

He nodded jerkily, forcing his eyes open. He caught a glimpse of the wing out Cas’s window, the ground dropping away….

“Jesus, shut that, would you?” he snapped, half turning away in his seat.

Mary looked at Dean, and then met Cas’s eyes over his shoulder.

“Did you know that your father hated flying?” she said.

“What?” Dean demanded, and she nodded.

“Reminded him of the war. He couldn’t stand being in a plane.”

“Really?” he squeaked, painfully aware of the wing shimmying in his peripheral vision.

Mary reached over, laying her hand on top of his and squeezing until he let go of the seat and gripped her hand instead. He felt stupid, but she didn’t let go.

“Dean,” Cas said from his other side, and Dean turned wide eyes to him. “If something happens to this plane, I will hold you and Mary and fly you safely to the ground.”

Mary squeezed his hand tighter, and Dean tried to keep his eyes on Cas, not on the _clouds_ outside his window.

“I won’t let you fall,” Cas told him.

“I know,” Dean said. He managed a jerky nod. “I know.”

[|][|][|]

Sam blinked and shook his head like a dog with water in its ears. He shuddered involuntarily, his heart pounding as he remembered the vague impression of fear as they’d left the airplane, walked to another limo, and driven to an impressive manor house. The whole time he’d felt _wrong_ , like he should be fighting, but couldn’t think why or muster the resolve. It was like being paralyzed in a nightmare. He leaned forward in this hard-backed chair, gasping as he tried to regain himself. He should have fought.

“Sam Winchester, sirs,” Toni announced.

Sam dragged his head up. He was in a large, well-lit conference room. It was not the kind of place he’d expected to be taken to. Sunlit windows adorned the tops of the walls on three sides of the room. They each contained a stained-glass mural of a cross, a devil’s trap, or the Men of Letter’s insignia. Sam was positioned at the end of the long conference table, his hands still cuffed behind his back, feet tied to the table legs, and thick ropes wrapped around his chest. His shoulder ached and his wrists felt raw beneath the Dampener cuffs.

Sitting around the table were eight men, ranging from middle-aged to elderly. They wore tailored suits and disapproving expressions as they stared at Sam. Toni stood on his left.

“Well done, Lady Bevell,” said the man at the head of the table. In Sam’s opinion, he looked like the biggest bastard of the group. He was clearly the leader. “How was the journey?”

“Uneventful, sir,” Toni replied.

“Excellent,” he said. “Do you have news of the other Winchester?”

“No, sir. I thought it better to bring Sam here, since I already had him in custody. Dean would most likely—”

“You’ve done well, Lady Bevell,” said the man at the end of the table, in a tone of bored arrogance. Sam hated him already.

Toni nodded and took a step back, just behind Sam’s peripheral vision. He sat up straighter under the glares of all eight of the men before him.

“Sam Winchester,” said the leader. “I am Horace Cannon, president of the Men of Letters, London Chapter. These are my associates, whose names you do not need to know.”

Everyone was staring intently at Sam. One of them took a lazy sip of tea. Cannon lifted some of the papers in front of him and continued.

“As Lady Bevell told you, we have brought you here to answer for the damage you have wrought upon the world. You and your brother, when we find him, will be given the treatment you deserve at the hands of our organization, sanctioned by the centuries we have protected the world, and deemed necessary by recent events, including but not limited to: your involvement with demons seeking to bring about the Apocalypse; your involvement with angels seeking to bring about the Apocalypse; your involvement with Leviathans seeking to bring about the Apocalypse; and your involvement with the Darkness, who was seeking to bring about the Apocalypse. You and your brother have been central in bringing about each of these crises. By bringing you here, we seek to protect the world from future damage you will cause. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Sam took a deep breath. “You’re so wrong,” he said. “You think we wanted all those things to happen? Demons, angels, Leviathan…. What control do you think we had in any of those fights? We were just trying to survive. Trying to _save_ people. And we did. Each time.” He let himself grin, but his heart was pounding. “You were all sitting here, passing your misguided judgment, while Dean and I fought. We beat the yellow-eyed demon. We beat the angels, the Leviathan. Everything you say we did wrong? Yeah, it got messy. We made mistakes. But we fought past them and the world is still here because of _us_. Because of me, and Dean, and Cas.”

His heart jumped and he shut his mouth quickly.

“We’re aware of your relationship with the angel Castiel,” Cannon said, smirking a little as if Sam’s slip amused him. He had not meant to bring Cas onto the mat with him and Dean. “We are not interested in meting out judgment against him. That is Heaven’s job. Nevertheless, the fact remains that many of the crises you claim to have averted, you were instrumental in causing. Do you deny that you allowed Lucifer free to walk the earth?”

“No, but—”

“Do you claim that you were not involved in the release of Leviathans upon the United States?”

“No, but that—”

“Do you deny that without you, the Darkness would never again have walked the Earth?”

“Listen—”

“Sam Winchester, the world will be much safer when you and your brother can no longer bring harm upon it. Lady Bevell—”

“You really think this is a good idea?” Sam demanded. He looked at the other men now, trying to read them. Someone in this room _had_ to be sensible, sympathetic. They stared back steadily. “I fought off Satan. Dean just beat the Darkness. Whatever we’ve done, we’re good at hunting. We’re helping people, saving them. Without us—”

“Enough,” Cannon said over him. “You have had your chance to speak. Now is the time for us to decide your fate. Lady Bevell, if you would please step outside.”

Toni hesitated, then took a step forward and said, “Sir, I feel I should mention this. On the journey here, Sam was able to briefly resist the effects of the Dampener. Despite his crimes, what he says is true. He has more experience in the field than any of our operatives. Perhaps his knowledge could be an asset.”

Sam looked up at her stiff back, his eyes wide, holding his breath.

“Thank you for your opinion,” Cannon said dismissively. “Please wait outside.”

Toni turned away, and Sam heard the door close behind her. Judging by the number of steps she’d taken, the door was about ten feet behind him. But he already knew he couldn’t get out of these bonds.

The men leaned toward each other across the table, and their voices muffled incomprehensibly. Even though they were mere feet from him, Sam couldn’t hear them. He figured it must be a spell. He wondered how much magic this council had at its disposal, how many magical artifacts this chapter of the Men of Letters had accrued over their centuries of existence. He didn’t want to think about what weapons they could use on him.

Finally, they stopped conversing and leaned back in their chairs. Cannon stared down the long table at Sam, his expression imperious.

“We have decided to offer you a choice,” he announced. “For your crimes, the world must have safety and justice. However, it has been noted that you have extensive knowledge of matters that could prove beneficial in the right circumstances. Sam Winchester, by the decision of this Council, you may choose imprisonment, or service to the Men of Letters until such time as you cease to be of service.”

“I’m not gonna serve you,” Sam said.

“Think well on it,” Cannon told him, as though he was asking a jeopardy contestant if that was his final answer. “Take the second option, and you may still be able to satisfy your delusions of heroism. You may retain your purpose.”

Sam hesitated. He knew which choice his pride wanted to pick. But he also knew which was the smart choice, the one that would keep him fighting, maybe give him a chance to escape, or contact Dean. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

“Very well,” Cannon said, clasping his hands together. “Excellent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you noticed the easter egg in this chapter ;)


	6. Wakening in Fight and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read and commented! You keep me going.  
> Gentle reminder that I don't own Supernatural or its characters.

Toni shepherded Sam to a suite on the third floor. She had the gun at his back, but she didn’t bother activating the Dampener again. They both knew he couldn’t get away.

“That door there,” she said finally, directing him to an unmarked white door halfway down the hallway. Its lock was on the outside, but he didn’t see any sigils or iron bars, which was nice. Toni turned the doorknob while Sam waited, standing politely a few feet away and ignoring the gun aimed casually at him. Then she stepped back, gesturing him inside. The room was like a fancy hotel, with a queen-size bed already made up, bright lighting, and an intricate pattern on the beige rug. Taking a second look, Sam realized that the elegant red swirls were interwoven sigils, inlaid with Latin scripts he could barely make out. The craftsmanship was incredible.

“We’ll call on you when we need you,” Toni said behind him. Sam turned. She was standing framed in the doorway. “There’s first-aid in the bathroom, to your left. Keep your shoulder clean. You know how. Otherwise, there’s the telly and some books. We can’t let you have internet access, you understand.” Sam nodded, glancing around the room again. “Don’t cause problems, and we’ll leave you alone.” She reached inside, and dropped a key just past the door’s swing. “For the cuffs,” she explained.

“Hey,” Sam said, making her pause and meet his eyes. “Why’d you stick up for me in there? You didn’t have to.”

She snorted. “It wasn’t for you. You’re useful. I just wanted to point that out.” She started to pull the door shut, then added thoughtfully, “You’re lucky you went to law school. Don’t try to escape. I don’t want to shoot you again.”

He nodded as the door shut. The lock clicked.

Sam knelt to pick up the key with some difficulty. He worked it into the cuffs behind his back and turned. They popped open and the pressure on his shoulders relaxed, making him shut his eyes, gritting his teeth in pain. Gradually, the ache and stiffness ebbed and he exhaled, working his arms forward and backward in small increments to warm them up. He coughed.

The first aid kit in the bathroom was well-stocked. Sam sat on the toilet and pulled his shirt off, throwing it in a ball on the floor. It was torn and blood-stained beyond redemption.

Toni had done a good job patching up his arm. He pulled the gauze off and checked the stitches, but there was nothing to improve, so he coated it liberally with antibiotic ointment and taped on more gauze. She had even wiped the dried blood off his arm and chest, so he didn’t have to peel that off. He felt grateful, which he quickly dismissed as the precursor to Stockholm Syndrome. She had shot him and was keeping him prisoner. And yet he sensed she had just about as much power here as he did. He had seen that in the conference room.

With a sigh, Sam walked shirtless back into the main room. It was a nice setup, he had to admit. The motel rooms he’d grown up in had been half this size. He walked the perimeter of the room, automatically tried the door, and looked out the windows. He was almost 50 feet above the ground. The windows faced the front of the house; beneath him was the curving driveway, which would be well-lit with numerous streetlights, even at night. Healthy grass filled the lawn, crisscrossed with dirt paths that actually formed a devil’s trap. He shook his head.

There were no bars on the window, but he could make out faint etchings under the white paint. He took the pencil and notepad from the bedside table, laid a page over the engravings, and shaded over it with the pencil. When he was done, he had a page covered in delicate symbols that made no sense to him, but that he assumed would prevent him from escaping through the window—probably from even opening it. He shoved the page in his pocket.

Bookshelves covered the wall across the room from the bathroom. Sam looked at the shelves. Of course there was nothing useful; no lore books, nothing remotely supernatural. The closest title to spellcraft was _Harry Potter_ , which he’d been meaning to reread, but which unfortunately wouldn’t help him escape.

Frustrated, Sam went to sit on the bed. He vaguely remembered Toni taking his phone and weapons while he was under the Dampener’s influence, but he checked all his pockets anyway. Nothing. He hadn’t expected there to be. The room held only a landline, which he picked up. No dial tone. Damn.

Casually, he laid back against the pillows, wincing at the twinge in his shoulder. He stared at the ceiling. One smoke detector over the bed. Probably at least two camouflaged security cameras, although he’d assume more to be safe. Let’s see. If Sam was putting in security cameras, he’d have one on the door, so over by that bookshelf, probably one trained on the bed and window, so above the door…. Based on his hypothetical camera placements, he couldn’t see any blind spots. But then again, the Men of Letters wouldn’t be likely to make that kind of slip.

He gazed around at this luxurious prison. He knew Dean and Cas would be coming. They’d have to take a plane, which meant a minimum of 10 hours, probably, plus travel time to wherever he was right now. And he didn’t know how long it would take them to track his location. So they could be here in a few hours or a few days. Could he wait that long here? Should he just bide his time for now?

There was no way Cas could enter this building, not with all these sigils everywhere. Sam recognized maybe 1 out of 100, but these Men of Letters seemed more advanced than the ones who had built the bunker, and wouldn’t leave themselves open to any type of supernatural interference, even angelic. So if he waited, Dean would be on his own, storming a house full of humans who had all had at least some training in spells and magical artifacts. And he had no clue what kind of state Dean might be in after his encounter with Amara. Somehow he had survived, but Sam knew Dean would push himself to reach him no matter how much the battle had cost him. He couldn’t wait.

Sam couldn’t make Dean take on the Men of Letters alone. He had to escape himself.

The catch was that this room had been designed to keep Men of Letters contained. So no spell, creature, summoning, or any other trick he knew would be able to spring him. He’d have to get out of here the old-fashioned way. Like a hunter.

[|][|][|]

Dean wanted to throw up. He really did. But his mom and Cas were right there, standing on either side of him as they waited for a taxi to pull up. The combined armies of Heaven and Hell would have to attack for these two not to notice him puking his guts onto the sidewalk. And he didn’t want Mary babying him any more than she already was. He was a grown man, goddammit. And a badass hunter.

A taxi slid to a stop in front of them, and Cas opened the door like he’d been doing this his whole life and he was _used_ to the cars being on the wrong side of the stupid road. Dean longed to be back in the US, with Baby in front of him and the cars facing the right goddam way along the curb. He slid in beside Cas, while Mary took the front seat.

“Where to?” the driver asked. He was a young man with untamed scruff that didn’t hide his acne scars.

“The nearest car rental that isn’t packed,” Mary said, and the guy nodded, pulling them smoothly away from the curb.

“Tough to get a car in the airport,” he said conversationally.

“We realized,” Mary replied.

Dean focused on the motion of the car, trying to get rid of the phantom vibrations left over from the plane. Or maybe that was him shaking.

“Have you been a taxi driver for a long time?” Mary asked.

The driver glanced over, as if checking that she was talking to him. He seemed surprised. “Nah, ma’am. I started driving last year.”

“Oh,” Mary said. “Do you like it?”

Dean glanced at Cas. Small talk was one thing, but what kind of a question was that? The angel was watching out the window.

“Well, sort of,” the driver said. “I mean, you meet some good people.”

“But also some rude ones?” Mary prompted.

“Yeah,” he answered, with a rueful shrug. “Most people just ignore you, though, you know?”

She nodded in understanding, though Dean had no idea if she actually did.

“What’s the furthest you’ve been from the city?” she asked.

The driver thought. “Well, for a passenger… Once I went to Hastings. I think that was the farthest. But we’re not supposed to go that far. Or did you mean traveling?”

“Either,” Mary said. “We’re coming from the US.”

“I’ve never been,” he answered.

Mary smiled. “Did you grow up here?”

“Yeah. My parents live twenty minutes away.”

“Do you visit them?”

“Not too often,” he said with a wink. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Oh, I’m Mary.”

“Markus,” he answered. “Pleased to drive you, Mary.” He lowered his voice into conspiratorial tones. “Which of those guys is the lucky one?”

Mary looked at the backseat, startled. “What? Neither. He’s—” She stopped, frowning. “We’re friends,” she said.

Dean grimaced and looked out the window. This was really weird.

The driver raised his eyes to the rearview mirror, looking at Dean and Cas. “Oh, so they’re together. Well, good for them.”

Dean whipped his head back around and caught Markus’s eye, which made him backtrack. “Or they’re friends,” he said quickly. “Friends is good. So, what brings you all the way across the ocean, Mary?”

“We’re going to Holy Island, in Wales,” she replied. Dean glared out the window again.

“Oh, what’s out there?”

“We’re meeting someone,” she answered vaguely.

Markus nodded. “A friend of mine took her girlfriend out there to propose,” he said. “It’s a nice place.”

“Did she say yes?” Mary asked.

“Oh yeah. It wasn’t a surprise. They’d been together three years.”

“How nice,” Mary said. “My girlfriend and I only made it four months.”

Dean choked on his oxygen. Hacking loudly, he sat forward, grabbing the back of Markus’s seat to stare at his mother.

“You had a girlfriend?” he asked. Cas looked around.

Mary looked at him, surprised. “Your— John wasn’t the only person I dated, Dean.”

“Yeah, but… You ended up— Did you want— Mo— Mary, what—”

Mary turned around all the way and spoke quietly, though they could all hear. “I thought it wasn’t a big deal anymore!” she said. “I thought everyone…. There’s so much awareness now! I was on the computer last night. Marriage is legal, so I thought— I was always interested in both. Does that— I wanted you to know…all about me. Is that— Is it okay, Dean?” She sounded anxious, her eyes wide. Markus looked like he was trying very hard to become one with the steering wheel.

“I— Yeah,” Dean said, unsticking his hands from the upholstery. “Yeah, of course. It’s fine, Mo—Mary. I was just surprised. You’re fine.”

“It’s called bisexuality,” Cas interjected helpfully.

Dean glared at him, sitting back. “Yeah, I know what it’s called,” he said. “I just hadn’t thought about it.”

Cas gave him one of those lingering stares that Dean eventually had to look away from. He caught sight of Mary, and saw she was watching him silently. The quiet built in the car until Dean actually saw beads of sweat on the poor driver’s neck.

“Hey, we getting close?” Dean asked him.

“Yes!” Markus exclaimed, seizing on the distraction. “Very close now. You know, one time I brought a newlywed, um—” He changed tack when he realized he was bringing the subject again to romance, blabbering at top speed. “Anyway, this place is quite nice. They’ve got a wavy-arm guy outside, you know what I’m talking about? Hilarious little guys. One time a friend of mine bought his own online. He was pissing drunk, I tell you. And he went to stand on the sidewalk with the real guy. The one they pay, you know. Turns out it was this nice girl, and they dated a few times. It didn’t work out….”

They pulled into the rental place, driving past the mascot in question. Dean couldn’t wait to be out of this love-struck cab. The guy pulled up next to the curb and Mary paid him with money they’d exchanged in the airport.

“Have a great day,” she said, tipping him generously.

Markus wiped the sweat off his forehead and forced a grin. “Same to you!” And he drove off without counting the money.

“Well, that was awesome,” Dean joked, heading for the sparkling glass door of the rental shop.

“Speak for yourself,” Mary said. She still looked worried. “It’s not a bad thing, right? I wanted you to know about me. All of me.”

“No, course not,” Dean said. “I don’t care either way. Or both ways,” he added, smiling. Mary rolled her shoulders and gave him a pity laugh, leading the way inside.

Twenty minutes—and one terrified employee—later they were heading northwest toward Holy Island. Cas pulled out a map of Wales, which he had picked up inside the airport. He put together the ingredients for his Enochian tracking spell in the backseat and performed it one last time, to pinpoint the location of Sam’s kidnapper.

“She’s gone,” he announced.

“What?” Dean asked, twisting around.

“Dean!” Mary gasped as the car swerved. Stupid wrong side of the road.

There was no scrap of paper left in Cas’s lap, just ash. “She must be warded,” he said, brushing himself off. “Like Sam.”

“Great,” Dean said. “Can you get us close?”

“I know where they were,” Cas said. “I had wanted to double-check….”

Dean glanced at the GPS. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough. We should be there in about four hours.”

“When do you want to make the call?” Cas asked.

“Call?” said Mary.

“Uh.”

“The demon?” she asked. “You’re still contacting that demon.”

“Mom, how else are we gonna get weapons out here?” Dean asked. “Unless you’ve got contacts?”

“We used to,” Mary said. “But I have no way of reaching them.”

“Wait, you do?” Dean asked, and Mary nodded.

“The hunting network in England is huge. My dad used to be in touch with a few. But they were all old and retired. I don’t think they’ll still be around.”

“Do you know any of their safe houses?” Dean asked.

Mary shook her head. “I never met any of them. I just know he used to contact them if he was having trouble with a case. England has had a long time to gather ghost stories,” she explained. “They’ve had basically everything at some point.”

Dean sighed. “Great.”

“What makes you trust this demon?” Mary asked.

Dean hesitated, glancing at her and then at Cas, watching him from the back seat.

“We’ve known him a long time,” Dean finally ventured. “And, I don’t trust him, but I think he’ll help us out. Crowley’s got more going on than other demons.”

“He’s the King of Hell,” Mary said. “You’re not worried about that?”

“He’s not king anymore,” Dean said. “He got kicked out pretty recently.” He looked over, but Mary didn’t seem appeased. “We need him. Mom, trust me about this? He’s okay.”

Mary frowned. “What do you think, Cas?”

The angel in the backseat looked around, surprised. “Crowley is different,” he said eventually. “Everything he does is part of a plan. Up till now, at least. I think he’s adrift right now. When Dean was off facing Amara, Crowley hardly said anything. If any time is a good time to need his help, it’s now, before he rebounds with a new ambition.”

Dean waited, glancing up from the road as often as he could. Mary was frowning out the windshield, biting her lip as she thought. She looked like Sam when he was engrossed in research.

“Fine,” she said. “But only as a courier. He’s not helping us rescue Sam.”

“Okay,” Dean said, relieved that she had relented. “He probably wouldn’t anyway.”

Mary pursed her lips, folding her arms across her chest. Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Crowley.

The demon answered on the second ring, sounding like his usual lazy bastard self.

“Hello, Squirrel. Calling to yell at me again?”

Dean chose to ignore this and instead said, “We’re in England and I’m calling in a favor.”

“Since when do I owe you a favor?”

“Since I just saved the entire universe,” Dean said. “Including you.”

“An ‘unfortunately’ goes unsaid,” Crowley smirked. “Why are you in England? Doctor recommend exposure therapy?”

“No,” Dean snapped. “Stop distracting me.”

Crowley’s infernal smirk was audible through the phone. “Yes, of course, Squirrel.”

“We need you to meet us and bring weapons,” Dean said. “And if you don’t agree, we’re going to summon you and make you do it anyway,” he added.

“Lovely,” Crowley said. “Are we hunting in England now? Or do Winchester saved-the-world-holidays include turkey hunting?”

“Just bring us the weapons?” Dean asked.

“It will take me a bit to break into your clubhouse,” Crowley said. “Despite having been inside it recently.”

“We left it open for you.” Mary looked around in alarm, but Dean kept his eyes on the road. “Everything’s on my bed. Just grab it and get over here.”

Crowley sighed. “Ooh, an invitation to Squirrel’s bed. It’s a dream come true. Where can I find you once I’ve got the goods?”

“We’re on the M40,” Dean said. “Call me when you’re ready.” He hung up and said to the two in the car, “He’s getting them.”

“Is that normal these days?” Mary asked.

“Is what normal?” Dean asked.

“Hanging up so abruptly. You did it to Cas earlier, too.”

“Oh,” Dean said. He’d never thought about it. Growing up, Dad had been the only one they’d talked to on the phone, and he had never been verbose. “I guess?”

“What if he’d been about to say something else?” Mary asked. “Not that I care.”

“I’ve always been under the impression that was how phone calls worked,” Cas said.

“No, I don’t think it’s normal,” Dean said. He thought about phone calls in movies, but he didn’t think they ever said goodbye. There wasn’t screen time. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“The world is so different,” Mary said, shrugging. She looked out the window as another silence filled the car.

[|][|][|]

The sun was down. Sam had put his ruined shirt back on, and he kept all the lights off as he carefully unscrewed the cover on the smoke alarm above his bed. He tipped over the shampoo bottle with his other hand and generously coated the inside of the cover. Then he put the plastic back in place and twisted it on.

After putting the bottle back in the bathroom, Sam went to sit on the bed. He’d put the Dampener on the nightstand earlier. Now he waited. The shampoo would block the smoke alarm’s sensor, which would set it off. Any minute now….

The first chirp was much louder than he expected it to be. Sam jumped up as the alarm started to go off in earnest. He grabbed the cuffs and moved to stand just inside the door. Red emergency lights flared on, but Sam stayed in position. Waiting to hear footsteps over the shrill alarm. Waiting to hear a key in the lock. Waiting for the doorknob to turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the SPN Family in the UK and Europe! I love you guys, but Dean's a little shaken from being on the plane, and his internal monologue is a bit grumpy.
> 
> Also, side note: No, I didn't actually test the smoke-alarm thing (I tried, but we didn't have any unused, working smoke detectors lying around that I could put shampoo in), but I think it makes sense. If smoke alarms go off when they're clogged by humidity, they'd certainly go off when clogged with something more viscous.


	7. Home Alone

It was dark by the time they reached the last leg of their drive. Cas said they were half an hour from the woman’s last known location, so Dean got his phone out.

“It’s me,” he said when Crowley answered.

“You left me quite a few toys here, Squirrel,” the demon drawled. “What exactly are you hunting?”

“Turkeys,” Dean answered. “We’re on the A55, just got off the bridge onto Holy Island.”

“Yes, yes,” Crowley said from the backseat. “You never were one for foreplay. Hello, Castiel.”

Crowley looked as unruffled as ever, lounging beside Cas with his arms full of weapons: guns and knives of different sizes, including Ruby’s knife. Cas sat stiffly.

“Hello, Crowley,” he said.

Mary turned around in her seat, assessing Crowley for herself.

“And who’s this?” the demon asked, noticing her for the first time.

Dean started to reply, but Mary spoke over him.

“I’m Mary Winchester,” she said, studying Crowley’s face.

His eyes widened, and he glanced from the back of Dean’s head, to Cas (still staring stoically ahead) and finally back to Mary.

“Mary Winchester,” Crowley repeated. “As in, Squirrel’s mother. Your mother? The dead one? The actual Queen Winchester.”

“Shut up, Crowley,” Dean snapped.

“Yes,” Mary said. “I know what you are, Crowley. You don’t have your throne or your army. So I’d be careful, if I were you.”

Crowley glanced at Dean again, speechless for once.

Mary leaned a little closer to him. “You’re only in this car because both Dean and Cas thought you were the only one who could bring us those weapons. As far as I’m concerned, you can go now.”

Her tone was dismissive, but Crowley stayed in the backseat. He finally found his tongue.

“And to what do we owe this miraculous resurrection?” he asked cautiously.

“Amara,” Dean said at the same time Mary snapped, “What do you care?”

“Your mum’s a peach, Squirrel,” Crowley commented.

“You call Dean ‘Squirrel’?” Mary demanded, talking over Dean’s protest.

“The other one’s ‘Moose,’ if you’re interested.” His tone was light, but he blanched when Mary’s face hardened, her gaze dark on his face.

“They’ve earned them,” he said quickly. “Have you seen dear Sam?” He looked around, as if realizing for the first time that Sam wasn’t in the car with them. “Where is he?”

No one answered; Mary was still glaring at Crowley, so he finally said, “Dean? Where’s your other half?”

“We’re not sure,” Dean said, his teeth gritted. “Why do you think we’re in England?”

“What on Earth is Moose doing in England?” Crowley asked. “That was a tear-jerking goodbye and all, but he left the country? I thought you boys would be driving back and forth across the States until the day you die.”

“There was an incident,” Cas told him. “Someone was in the bunker. We’re not sure on the details.”

“Someone _kidnapped_ Moose and took him to _England_? Must have been a giant.”

No one responded to this. Mary leaned closer to Dean. “Is your brother really that tall?” she murmured.

Dean nodded. Mary turned back around to Crowley.

“Are you staying?” she asked.

“For the rescue?” he replied. “I’m not cleaning up Moose’s mess.”

“Then get out of the car,” Mary ordered.

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror to see Crowley’s face. He looked thoughtful, and he didn’t move.

“Mothers,” he muttered.

[|][|][|]

Sam swung the cuffs hard the moment the door opened. They caught Toni in the throat, making her choke and drop to her knees, one hand flying to her neck while the other waved the gun wildly. He snatched at it and turned it away from them just before it discharged. Wood chips and shreds of rug flew up from the floor where the bullet hit.

Toni lurched back up, coughing and staggering, but Sam still had hold of her wrist. He twisted it, spinning her around until he could push her chest-first against the wall. He pulled the gun out of her hand and threw it across the room.

“S-stop!” Toni gasped.

“I’m not staying here,” Sam said. He peeked out the door, but didn’t see any reinforcements behind her.

“You can’t get away,” she panted. “Surrender, Sam.”

“Who else is in this house?” he asked, giving her shoulder a shove. “How many?”

Toni made a sound that was either a laugh or a sob, he couldn’t tell. “All of them.”

Sam knew he didn’t have any more time to dawdle. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he struck her head with his elbow. Toni dropped, and Sam caught her, setting her gently on the floor and fastening the cuffs around her wrists. He really was sorry. She didn’t seem like a bad person. She just worked for one, and Sam knew what that was like.

He retrieved Toni’s gun and stepped into the hallway, keeping his back to the wall. No one appeared as he ran to the staircase he and Toni had come up earlier. There was no one in the staircase, either. Sam’s instincts were on high alert. Something wasn’t right. She had said ‘all of them.’ So where were they?

He reached the ground floor without encountering anyone else, and kept going. Maybe Dean was already here and had cleared the place out? That was wishful thinking, but why else would there be no one around when all the emergency systems were blaring? Sam sped into the antechamber. The front doors were just ahead; beyond them the starry night he’d seen out the window.

The doors to the adjacent rooms and hallways slammed shut. Sam skidded to a halt, whirling around. Even the door through which he had just run was now bolted shut. He put his back to the wall and lifted the gun. He was locked in, but he didn’t see anybody.

A man in an old-fashioned suit appeared directly in front of him. He raised a flickering hand, smiling with chapped, blue lips, and laid it against Sam’s chest. A rush of bright pain jolted through him and he cried out, pulling the trigger reflexively. The bullet passed harmlessly through the grinning man, shattering a section of plaster in the wall.

The pain increased until Sam’s vision was blacking out. He felt his knees hit the ground, and then nothing.

[|][|][|]

“I am not going in there,” Crowley said.

They were parked on the side of the road. Above them, almost a mile away from the road, they could see red lights in the windows of a large house. The echoes of an alarm reached them on the gentle wind.

“It looks like Sam’s causing some trouble,” Dean said proudly. Mary bit her lip.

“You can’t go in either,” Crowley said to Cas. “That place is _seeping_.”

“He’s right, Dean,” Cas said. “I can’t get in.”

“You can’t?” he asked. “Why?”

“I can feel it from here. That house is covered in warding. I doubt I could even get through the door.”

Dean turned the car off, thinking hard. “Okay,” he said. “Alright. Crowley can stay by the car. Be ready to drive.”

“I’m not staying here,” Crowley said immediately.

Dean shot him an annoyed look. “What are you, five?” he asked. “We need a getaway driver. You and Cas can’t get close. So you stay here, Cas will come with me and Mom as close as he can. Then we’ll go in and find Sam.”

“I don’t feel good about the two of you going inside alone,” Cas said, looking from Dean to Mary. “There is something wrong with that house.”

“Kitten’s right,” Crowley said. “This place feels wrong. And I’m from Hell.”

“Sam’s in there,” Dean said. “We’re going.” He looked at Mary. “Unless you don’t want to, Mom. I can go alone.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, squinting at the house. “But storming the place might not be the best plan.”

“What are you suggesting?” Crowley asked.

“Well, no one knows I’m alive,” Mary said. “I could get closer—”

“No way,” Dean said immediately.

“It’s a smarter plan—” Mary protested, but Cas cut her off.

“They’ll know,” he said, squinting at the red lights atop the hill. “There’s something else in that house.”

“What?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded. “I don’t know,” he said. “But it—or they—are powerful.”

“Awesome,” Dean said.

He got out of the car, the others following suit. Crowley had dumped all the weapons on the floor of the backseat, and now Dean reached inside for them. He passed two shotguns, a pistol, and a hunting knife back to Mary, grabbed his own gun and Ruby’s knife, and straightened up. Mary holstered her weapons, her eyes on Cas, who was intently watching the house. For some reason, her lips were turned up in a tiny smile.

“If anything goes wrong, pray to me,” Cas said.

“I thought you couldn’t get inside,” Dean said, accepting one of the salt guns from Mary.

“If you need me, I’ll come,” Cas said. “Warding or not.”

Dean squeezed his shoulder. Their eyes met and held, and then Dean turned to head into the underbrush beside the road. They’d have to hike a bit to get to the top. It wouldn’t be easy in the dark, and whatever they found in the house wouldn’t be fun either. Dean sighed, shouldering the shotgun as he led the way up.

[|][|][|]

Sam awoke bound to a chair. His head ached, and he could hear his breath wheezing in his chest. Looking around, he blinked to clear his vision and found himself in a crypt. Coffins sat in their alcoves from floor to cobwebbed ceiling; there were at least a hundred of them. Some looked like they’d been there for centuries, while others still shone with new polish. The place stretched into the shadows on his right and left; he couldn’t tell how far it went.

“Sam Winchester.”

The voice that spoke was familiar. Horace Cannon stepped in front of him. He had apparently been hanging out just behind Sam’s field of view, so that he could dramatically reveal himself. Sam raised his eyebrows at the theatrics.

“You could have been useful, Sam,” Cannon sighed. “You might have made a difference.”

“I have made a difference,” Sam said. “And when I get out of here—”

“‘When’?” Cannon interrupted. “There is no ‘when,’ Sam. You’re going to die now.”

A figure materialized beside Cannon. It was the same man, his eyes misty, his ice blue lips twisted into a garish smile.

“You’re controlling spirits?” Sam asked. “I’m not surprised you’ve gone dark side.”

“I do not control Sir Evanshire,” Cannon said. “He’s here by his own choice.”

Sam looked more closely at the ghost. Sewn on his collar was a familiar insignia.

“He was a Man of Letters,” Sam realized. “And he stayed, even after he died.”

Cannon clapped his hands together, making a noise that echoed unpleasantly throughout the tomb. “Men of Letters gather vast knowledge over their lifetimes,” he said. “We make sure that that information remains available after death, for future Men of Letters. Why should Hell or Heaven be privy to what we know, when our own are left defenseless?”

Sam looked around in horror at the crypts. At the sheer multitude of them…. “You bind your souls to this house?” he asked. “You can never move on?” He was speaking to the spirit, which didn’t respond.

“These are the spirits of those who spent their lives protecting this organization,” Cannon said. “They continue to do so in death. Sir Evanshire has been with us for 400 years.”

“How do they not go crazy?” Sam asked, thinking of Bobby and wondering how much anger swirled around this crypt. His skin crawled.

“Please,” Cannon scoffed. “Spirits lose themselves when they lose their purpose. The Final Initiates will always have their duty. Although this much excitement is unusual.”

Sam huffed. “You can’t keep them forever. Spirits always turn eventually.”

“And here is where my knowledge far outstrips yours,” Cannon drawled. He stepped back, and Evanshire moved forward, raising crooked fingers.

Sam leaned against the hard-backed chair, bracing himself. But he still screamed when Evanshire touched him. It felt like the ghost’s frigid hand was inside him, claws digging into his chest, his stomach. Sam’s head fell back, his eyes shut and his hands clenched around the arms of the chair. He gave another shout of pain as the ghost seized something deep in his body and _twisted._

“Hold on,” Cannon said lazily.

The ghost flicked back, and Sam gasped, collapsing against his restraints. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t seem to stop shaking. His eyes refused to focus; he wasn’t even sure if they were open.

“Lady Bevell, you were much too lenient with him,” Cannon said, his voice far away. “You should not have removed the Dampener.”

Sam dragged his head up, gazing blearily at Toni, who had joined them in the crypt. Her hands were free of the cuffs, and she was watching Sam, her face carefully blank.

“Yes, sir,” Toni said. “I didn’t think he’d get out.”

“You didn’t think at all,” Cannon said. He waved the ghost forward. “No matter.”

“Wait!” Sam gasped, with Evanshire’s crackling fingertips a foot away from him. “Toni—”

“Don’t speak,” Cannon snapped, and then the ghost was holding his heart in its hand, and Sam threw his head back again to scream.

“He doesn’t—know…Toni!” Sam gasped, curling into himself and trying to look up. He couldn’t actually see her; his vision was swirling black and red, flickering in dizzying patterns of agony and fear. “J-just—like… _Dad_.”

The pain stopped. Sam sagged forward again, coughing as his whole body shuddered uncontrollably. He wondered feverishly if his words had somehow turned Toni to his side. But when he finally lifted his head, it was to see both humans watching Evanshire closely. The ghost was standing stock-still, his head lifted toward the ceiling behind Sam.

“Sir Evanshire?” Cannon asked, but the ghost vanished.

Sam tried to catch his breath as Cannon paced toward him. Toni glanced at the ceiling, then at Cannon’s back. She avoided looking at Sam.

A gunshot echoed from above them. Dust shook free of a few coffins.

“Well, that must be your rescue,” Cannon said, straightening his tie. He smiled at Sam. “I’d estimated it would take him longer to reach us. But no matter. Your brother will join you soon, Sam, and then both of you will die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hugs Sam*
> 
> Questions, feels, rants? Leave them below and I'll love you forever! ;)


	8. In the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Supernatural or its characters. <3

They found the front door of the manor unlocked, which instantly rang all of Dean’s warning bells. He glanced back at the line of trees where they had left Cas, just past the edge of the driveway. He could just make out the pale trenchcoat amid the underbrush, but he couldn’t see his friend’s face.

Raising the gun, Dean pushed open the door and crept inside, Mary on his heels. The entryway was huge, larger than the bunker’s, and with the added feature of actual windows. Glancing up, Dean saw a chandelier made of wrought iron, designed in the shape of a devil’s trap. He was beginning to understand why Crowley hadn’t wanted to risk coming close. He wondered again who this woman was, that she had such a big house with so many magical protections.

The door slammed shut behind them. The ghost of an old man with a gaunt face and blue lips appeared directly in front of Dean, but before it could do more than lift its hand, Mary pulled the trigger. Rock salt pierced the spirit’s chest, dispersing it into a shower of dusty particles. The pellets scored the wall behind.

“Nice shot,” Dean said appreciatively. Mary grinned, shifting her shotgun in her hands.

Dean led the way into the house proper. The spirit reappeared as they passed the grand staircase. Its power threw Mary against the banister, trapping her, but Dean shot it before it could get closer.

“Are you okay?” he asked desperately as Mary picked up her gun.

“M’fine,” she said. “Dean, look.”

She was pointing at a symbol in the wall just under the railing. Dean recognized it.

He brushed his fingers over it, and felt a weird indent around the edge. “It’s the….”

“Aquarian Star,” Mary said. “The symbol of the Men of Letters.”

“That’s who this person is?” Dean asked. “We’re dealing with a Woman of Letters? I thought they were all dead.”

Mary shook her head. “The American branch is. Men of Letters exist all over the world. The British branch is much older than ours was.”

“Damn,” Dean muttered, and pushed hard against the symbol.

It sank into the wall, and he stepped back as a hidden door swung open beneath the stairs.

Dean grinned. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he said, winking at Mary. She rolled her eyes and moved past him to peer into the dark passage. It was a shadowy spiral staircase; they couldn’t see how far down it went. A gentle wind brushed past them.

“It’s always a creepy dungeon,” Dean muttered.

“I don’t know where else they’d keep Sam,” Mary replied. She turned on her flashlight and led the way down, feet silent on the stone steps.

The ghost did not reappear on the stairs. It seemed to be waiting. Dean wondered why the Men of Letters let a spirit hang around their home base. It wasn’t adding up right. Was the lady controlling it? That seemed too stupid and risky, even from someone who would attack Sam and Cas in the bunker.

By the time light appeared around the curving wall, Dean was worrying about cave-ins. They were seriously far underground. How long had this been here? The stairs were clearly ancient, much older than any part of their bunker in Kansas. They were well-worn, crafted to be timeless….

“Hold up,” Dean murmured. Mary stopped, looking back as Dean crouched on the stairs. He ran his fingers over the stone. “Check it out.”

Mary knelt beside him, inspecting the stone in the sharp light from their flashlights. Symbols covered every inch of the steps; ancient sigils intricately woven together in an infinite web of supernatural power.

“Oh, God,” Mary whispered.

“No wonder Cas couldn’t come in here,” Dean said. He pulled out his phone, handing his light to Mary, and snapped a close-up of the engravings. Maybe someday, if they had a free weekend, they could decipher some of it.

“Do you think the whole house is covered?” Mary asked.

Dean looked at the tunnel around them. Now that he was looking, he could see that every inch of the walls was carefully engraved. It must have taken them years.

“Probably,” he said, running his fingers over the markings. There were repeating patterns: he recognized a miniature devil’s trap woven around something that could be a form of Enochian. He took another picture. “Maybe that’s how they’re controlling the spirit,” he mused. “It’s stuck in here. It can’t turn vengeful. It has to do what they want because of these sigils.”

“That’s a theory,” Mary said, peering closely at some of the marks on the inner wall of the staircase. “But if that’s true, they’re in trouble.”

“Why?”

Mary fired her shotgun at the wall a few steps above them, making Dean jerk back. Salt and stone chips flew in all directions.

“Mom!”

“I wonder how many of these wards we have to break before the warding fails?” she said. Dean was staring at her. “Before the spirit escapes them.”

Dean looked around at the tunnel, his mouth slightly open. “If they covered every inch,” he said. “They probably needed every inch. You’d have to have a ton of free time and money to do all this. Which, yeah, they probably had. But still.”

“We have to split up,” Mary said, and Dean nodded, but he hated it.

“You go do as much damage as you can,” Dean said, taking back the flashlight she held out. “I’ll find Sam.”

Mary nodded quickly. She stepped forward and kissed Dean on the cheek, gave him a hug, and turned up the stairs.

“If you don’t meet me upstairs, I’ll come back down here,” she warned, sounding so much like a mother warning her kids ‘not to make me come in there,’ that it made Dean grin from ear to ear.

“See you upstairs, Mom,” he said.

Mary nodded again and disappeared up the steps. Dean swallowed, schooled his face, and turned back toward the bottom of the staircase.

He peered out into a massive crypt with coffins all along the walls. If all of those people had become spirits, maybe they shouldn’t break the warding. But there was no way to stop Mom now. Dean held his shotgun in front of him as he stepped into the dim light of the crypt.

Sam was hunched over with his back to the door, tied to a chair in the middle of the crypt. His head was bowed. Dean could hear his brother breathing hard, see his shoulders shaking. Rage tightened his grip on the shotgun as he turned his gaze to the two people standing in front of Sam. A blond woman who must have been the one in the bunker, and a smug older man in a fancy suit whom Dean would have hated even if he hadn’t hurt Sam.

“Well hey there,” Dean said. “Glad there are, you know, living people at the party, too.”

Sam’s head jerked a little; he coughed weakly.

The spirit appeared in front of Dean, its ghastly face inches from him—if he shot it the salt pellets would hit Sam—so he jumped backward, reaching for his knife, and slashed through its gut. The ghost dissolved, but it would be back. Mom would need more time to break the sigils. He had to stall.

“More my kinda party,” Dean continued, gesturing with the knife. “No fun to hit a ghost.”

“So you’re the talker,” the bastard said. “Sam has been quite concise so far. Not quiet, once Sir Evanshire joined us, but—”

“Sir Evanshire?” Dean interrupted, his eyes flicking around the crypt, watching for more spirits. No way all that warding was meant to hold in only one. “Man, that is such a British name.” He put on his best British accent. “Won’tyuh offa me a cuppa before yuh try to off meh?” He cleared his throat and switched back. “What happened to English hospitality, huh?”

“You think you’re funny,” the man said. “I think you’re dead.”

Dean pointed the shotgun at him. “If I was dead, could I do this?” He pulled the trigger, sending a spray of rock salt over Sam’s drooping head. But before it connected, the ghost appeared in front of the man, one semi-transparent hand outstretched, and the pellets shot off-course, scattering harmlessly over the floor.

“I am protected, Winchester,” the man said. “This is _my_ house.”

“Really?” Dean said. “Well, you might want to work on your interior decorating.” He was worried that Sam still hadn’t said anything. What had these bastards done to him? “’Cause when we’re done, it’s gonna need a little work.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Guess that’s the difference between hunters and Men of Letters,” Dean grinned, walking confidently in an arc around Sam, so that he wouldn’t be caught in the middle anymore. “Hunters see things. We know where to look. You know, like for sigils on the walls and floor and in the freaking stairs. We don’t walk around with our heads up our asses.”

“State your point,” the man said dismissively. “This nonsense is wasting my time.”

“Heh,” Dean laughed lightly, stopping ten feet to Sam’s right and casually pointing the gun at the man. “Lemme say it nice and simple for you. Your spirit army is about to be my spirit army. Or at least, no one’s spirit army. And I’m the only one here armed against ghosts.”

The man had been watching Dean with vague boredom, but now his eyes slowly widened. “You—” he began, and his eyes flashed to the waiting spirit. “Don’t think you can undo centuries of magical craftsmanship!”

“Oh, I’m not doing anything,” Dean said, spreading his arms and grinning. “My mom’s up there destroying your house. She just needs another minute.”

[|][|][|]

Mary’s knife stripped easily through the plaster and paint, marring the sigils in the wall with an extra line that erased their meanings. She kept the blade pressed against the wall as she ran to the kitchen. The easiest way to destroy all the sigils would be fire, though that wasn’t a great plan since Dean and Sam were in the basement. She assumed she had to physically destroy the sigils, as with the knife, not just cover over them, because these walls looked like they had already been painted several times since the original carving, the markings muted beneath years of paint. She had to dig into the wood where they had first been carved.

The manor’s kitchen was bigger than the house Mary had grown up in. She ignored the lavish china and massive appliances and scratched out a few more sigils. In a house this size, these pecks wouldn’t get her anywhere. She threw open the cabinets, rummaging around until she found their stock of cooking oil. There wasn’t much, but it would have to do. She found a book of matches in a drawer and took it, too.

Then she ran upstairs, still digging her knife through every wall she passed. The second floor was just as airy and oversized as the rest of the house. She ran into one of the rooms and poured out a careful spill of oil at the base of one wall, watching it darken and slide down the paint. She struck a match and dropped it in the pool, stepping back as flames shot to life along the wall. A rush of heat hit her face and she ran to the door and looked back. The flames would consume this room and its sigils, but hopefully the damage would stay upstairs long enough for them all to escape. Hopefully. She slammed the door shut behind her.

The next room was a large bedroom. Mary used up the rest of the oil splashing the walls, left a trail of oil to the door, and then dropped another match. The flames rushed away from her, shooting up the walls like hungry ivy. She shut this door, too.

The first door was warm when Mary laid her hand against it. Faint smoke trailed around its edges. She stepped back, threw the empty oil bottle onto the floor, and raced back downstairs.

She was heading for the secret stairway when she stopped. If the flames destroyed all the sigils upstairs, that still left at least a third down here untouched, plus most of the stone staircase. Dean hadn’t come back up yet. She hesitated, torn between running back to him, or doing what else she could up here. Finally, Mary decided to stay at the top of the stairs, where she would meet him when he came up with his brother. If the flames reached the ground floor, she’d go down for them. Dean could handle below as long as she destroyed enough of the sigils.

Mary dug her knife into the wall and swiped. A large section of plaster crumbled away, peppering her hand with white powder. Underneath, the undone sigils looked less threatening, exposed and meaningless. She scratched again, taking out another section of plaster. Chunks hit her shoes. Dean would come up. Her arm struck again against the wall, tearing it as high as she could reach, which wasn’t nearly as high as her sons could. She smiled. A piece of plaster bounced off her knee. Her hand was covered in powder, like the chalk in gymnastics when she was a child. She had destroyed a good chunk of this wall, rendering the sigils useless.

It wasn’t enough. She needed to break more. She needed a better way to do this. Not just chicken scratches on one tiny section of wall. The fire would do it. She was taking care of this section, and the entire upstairs. It would be enough. She had to be enough.

She turned to the wall adjacent to the hidden door. It was bigger. She took out a whole swath of sigils with one swing of her arm. Plaster flakes rained down, getting in her eyes. Tears pushed them out.

She gave a grunt of frustration, wiping her eyes with her plaster-covered wrist and kicking through the base of the wall with the almost-fitting boots she’d found in a spare room in Dean and Sam’s bunker.

John had forced this on them. This life. He had made them grow up alone. Together, but alone. Hunters. Everything she hadn’t wanted.

She stabbed forward, punching the knife, and her hand, straight into the wall. The pain made her grunt again, full of anger and humiliation. She should not have to meet her children as adults. She should not be a stranger to them. She should have been able to watch them grow up, to care for them, to help them. But this was all she could do. Destruction. The hunter’s way.

Tears were clearing streaks in the plaster dust on her face. She didn’t want them to know she’d been crying. They would worry. They should never have to worry about their mother. She stepped back, smearing the rest of the powder all over her face to hide the evidence.

The wall in front of her was unrecognizable. Every sigil up to six feet off the floor was rendered useless. She cleared her throat. All she could smell was plaster dust and smoke. How long had it been since she had left Dean? How far along had the fire progressed?

Mary brushed off her hands, sheathed the knife, and headed down the secret staircase.

[|][|][|]

Cas saw fire in the upstairs windows. He clenched his hands, halting in his relentless pacing. Dean had this under control. He had probably set that fire. Him and Mary. They’d be okay.

He started pacing again, wearing a trail on the edge of the woods between a massive old oak tree and a bare sapling fifteen feet away.

The magic in this place was oppressive. Breathing was difficult this close, and though he did it only out of habit, not necessity, it was still quite uncomfortable. He hated not knowing what was happening.

One of the windows on the top floor blew out, showering glass over the crisp lawn, and Cas noticed that the air felt different. Not from heat of the fire—that couldn’t reach him this far away. He took a deep breath through his nose, ignoring the sting of the warding.

It was weaker. The magic in the house was weakening. Of course. The fire was destroying whatever sigils were inside. Clever of Dean and Mary to think of this. He took another deep breath and felt no pain. It was not enough for him to go inside—that would be unendurable—but it was better. Whatever magic these people were employing—presumably to protect their house—it would soon be dead.

[|][|][|]

The ghost of Sir Evanshire flickered and vanished, a strange look on his face. The man stepped toward where he had been, and then quickly took several more steps away. He shot a glare at Dean and then barked, “Lady Bevell, go upstairs. Find his companion.”

But the woman didn’t move. Some of the coffins along the walls began to rattle. Dust rose in the air, taking the insubstantial forms of long-dead Persons of Letters. They couldn’t take form completely; Dean figured there must be warding on their coffins that kept the ghosts mostly contained. And the spirits were not happy about being trapped. They were battering their wooden prisons against the walls of their alcoves, desperate and vicious. The woman was watching them shake, her eyes wide.

“You seem worried,” Dean said. “You should be.” He walked closer until he was standing next to Sam, who seemed to be trying to lift his head. Dean’s heart shivered. “But you hurt my brother. You don’t have to worry for long.”

He fired the shotgun at the man, and this time the spirit didn’t save him. Rock salt wouldn’t kill him, not even close, but it did knock him backward off his feet and send him crashing against the stone floor. Dean turned the shotgun on the woman, but she put her hands up immediately, backing away as her eyes darted around wildly. After a pause, Dean lowered the gun and knelt quickly beside Sam, slipping the knife into the ropes binding him.

“Sam? Sammy, talk to me. What’d they do to you? Sam?” The ropes fell away and Sam sagged forward. Dean stood back up and caught him, pushing him against the back of the chair and checking his pulse. Much too fast. His skin was hot and Dean could feel him trembling. The coffins lining the walls were now practically leaping in their alcoves. They needed to go.

“…Dean—” Sam gasped. His pupils were blown wide, his eyes unfocused, but he knew Dean was there as he coughed and shuddered.

“Yeah, I’m here, Sammy. I’m here.” Dean let him sag forward against his stomach, holding Sam upright and crooking an arm protectively around his head. He shot a look at the woman and saw that she was still backing away, edging around toward the door. The man was groaning on the ground. “It’s gonna be okay. Can you walk?”

One of the coffins from the highest row crashed to the floor. Dean whirled around, still supporting his brother with one hand, and watched as a spirit rose from the pile of shattered wood. The warding had failed. The ghost of a young woman with lank hair and a tattered black dress took a step toward Dean. She tilted her head, looking around. The Men of Letters insignia was embroidered on the collar of her dress.

She smiled, then, and Dean had no time before she was in front of him, both skeletal hands in the front of his shirt, lifting him several inches off the floor. She threw him to the ground and he hit hard, shoulder first and rolling. He heard Sam grunt in pain as he fell off his chair, limp without Dean’s support. The shotgun had fallen from his hand when he hit the ground, and now Dean reached for it, just inches away but still too far. The spirit of the woman stood above him, her head cocked to the side, and Dean had the ridiculous thought that that was _Cas’s look_ , before she swung her foot against his head and it felt like he’d been hit with a freight train. His vision turned white, and then yellow, and he felt a tickling over his ear that he knew meant heavy bleeding.

“ _Mortuus vade_!” a woman’s voice shouted. The flickering face of the spirit vanished, and a new form took her place in Dean’s blurred vision. He couldn’t think straight, but he was glad, so glad, that Mom had made it. That Mom knew a spell to banish a spirit….

“You have to get up,” she said, pulling at his shoulders. “Now, Winchester. Get up!”

Dean’s brain reconnected to his body long before his eyes caught up, and he was on his feet just in time to be slammed by a wave of vertigo that made him bend double and almost fall back down. He groaned, holding his bleeding head and trying very hard, for the second time that day, not to throw up.

“Come on!” the woman urged, and her voice was different than Mom’s. Much different. British. “I can’t carry him.”

“Wh-what?” Dean managed to grunt out, blinking furiously. It was the Woman of Letters who half-held him, who was keeping the world from spinning around him. She had banished the spirit, was helping Dean limp toward Sam. He couldn’t understand….

But there was no time. Another coffin fell from the wall and cracked open. Dean’s vision was now clear enough for him to see Sam moving weakly on the ground, trying to pull himself up. Dean grabbed his jacket, pulling.

“Come on,” he grunted, as another spirit rose from the wooden wreckage.

Toni pointed at it and ordered, “ _Mortuus vade_.” It vanished.

Dean dragged Sam’s arm over his shoulder, helping his brother lurch to his feet. Sam shuddered, and Dean could hear his labored breathing.

“What did you do to him?” he demanded of the woman. Temporary allies or not, he was pissed.

“We have to go,” she said, holding his knife in front of her and leading the way toward the staircase. The shuddering coffins were making such a racket Dean could barely hear her. He took an unsteady step, his concussed brain trying hard to function amid the chaos of noise and sensation. Sam leaned heavily against him.

“Lady Bevell!” shouted the man behind them. “You would leave me?”

A few feet ahead of them, she stopped.

The man’s pet ghost, Sir Evanshire, had appeared in the doorway. Dean held his breath. Toni had both his shotgun and his knife. He had a concussion and a deadweight, semiconscious brother.

The spirit took a calm step forward, and then flicked forward. Dean felt its presence brush past him, turning his whole body cold for a moment. He looked around, to follow it with his eyes.

Sir Evanshire knelt over the prone man, who had raised himself on his elbows. The ghost reached out, almost gently, and laid his hand against the man’s chest.

“Come on,” the woman said, her voice tight and urgent. Dean followed her, hefting Sam along.

The man on the floor screamed like a Hellbound soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rereading this chapter to post it gave me anxiety. But that could also be my impending school year.


	9. Centuries To Be Inside

Halfway up the stairs, Dean collapsed. Every beat of his pounding heart sent pain stabbing through his head, blurring his vision and making the world spin. He didn’t realize he had fallen until he heard Sam grunt as he hit the stair next to him. Blood dripped in Dean’s eyes.

“Damn it,” the woman cursed above him. “Dean, stand up. We have to keep going. Get up.”

She grabbed his arm, trying to lift him, but Dean’s body felt detached, useless and heavy.

She gave another tug on his arm, but there was no way she could lift him. As the stone swirled around in Dean’s vision—along with a distant coolness devoid of pain—something cold snapped around his left wrist. He just needed to rest…. The woman pushed him over and grabbed his right hand, and the same cool band closed around it.

“ _Ligare in deditionem_.”

Everything seemed to dim. The pain faded, as did the roar of his blood, but he was aware of the woman above him, Sam at his side.

“Get up, Dean,” she said softly.

He stood up. Hands bound in front of him, he waited for his next order, staring straight ahead.

“Get Sam up,” she said.

Dean pulled his brother’s arm over his shoulder, which wasn’t easy with his hands bound. Sam lifted his head weakly, meeting Dean’s eyes.

“No,” he groaned weakly. Dean pulled him up, holding his arm tight. “Toni, please. Not Dean.”

“Come on,” she said. Back straight, she started up the stairs again. Dean followed.

They were almost at the top when Mary came hurtling around the tight curve, nearly bowling Toni over. They both jumped away from each other. Mary pointed her shotgun at the woman, her eyes flicking between her and Dean. He tilted his head. This felt wrong.

“Mary Winchester,” Toni said. “You’re alive. I thought he was joking—”

“You’re the one who kidnapped Sam,” Mary said. There was white powder all over her, smeared across her face.

“Er,” Toni said. “I—”

“M-Mom,” Dean groaned. The word echoed around his head, hard to formulate and even harder to push out his mouth. “Mmom….”

Her eyes flicked from him to Toni and back. “What did you do to him?” she demanded.

“He got hurt,” Toni said. “Concussion. He’d collapsed and this was the only way—”

“Mom,” Dean said. He reached for her. The silver cuffs clanked on his wrists. He looked down at them, saw intricate sigils.

He frowned. “Stop,” he muttered, trying to shake the cuffs off. “I don’t…want…. No.”

He remembered Sam’s words. _Not Dean_. He felt strange. Wrong. This was all wrong. He didn’t want to feel like this. Dead and empty and alone. This wasn’t how he should feel. He should feel pain, and fear. He should feel alive. With Sam, and Cas, and _Mom_. He wanted to feel alive.

And the pounding in his head came rushing back. Dean jerked to the side, catching himself on the wall as Toni let out a quiet cry. Looking up, his eyes blurring with tears of pain, Dean saw glittering shards of a bracelet falling in pieces off her wrist, shattered.

He sank to his knees against the stairs, Sam collapsing with him. The stone felt cool against his throbbing head. A rushing noise in the distance echoed the slosh of blood in his ears. He wondered vaguely what it was.

“Dean.” Mary was calling him from far away. “Dean! Sam!”

But her voice faded into silence.

[|][|][|]

Dean was unconscious, his face covered in blood. Mary’s heart beat fast enough to make up for all the years it had missed. She checked for his pulse, and, finding it steady, breathed out in relief. Sam’s heartbeat was weaker. She shook his shoulder and he groaned, but didn’t move. Sam…. Her baby Sam.

Mary turned sharp eyes to the woman. “What happened?” she demanded, aware that they were both armed with a shotgun and a knife. If it came down to who could fire first, she didn’t know if she’d win.

“Dean was hit in the head by a spirit, and Sam’s probably hemorrhaging. We need to get out of here—and we need to get them out of here—before the spirits overwhelm the house.”

“We could probably carry one of them between us,” Mary said. She looked at her sons, thinking. If only Cas could come in. Rescue and heal the boys. Help them walk out under their own power. She reached into Dean’s pocket, pulling out his phone, but there was no service underground.

“This staircase is well-warded,” the woman said. “We should be safe. But we can’t get out. I assume you broke the wards upstairs?”

“Yes,” Mary said. “Why did you think keeping spirits trapped here would be a good thing?”

“Wasn’t my idea,” the woman muttered.

“What’s your name?”

“Toni Bevell.”

“Mary Winchester.”

“I know,” she said, and they lapsed into awkward silence.

Mary tried calling Cas, but the call wouldn’t go through. She grit her teeth. There was no time to make two trips, and she could _not_ decide which of her sons to save first. Not if it meant being unable to save the other.

Dean had told her that angels could hear prayers. She didn’t know if it would work, but there was no other option.

“Cas?” she said tentatively. “Cas, we need you.”

Toni frowned. “The house is warded against all supernatural—”

Cas appeared, standing beside Mary, his trenchcoat flapping in an unfelt wind. He looked from Mary to Toni, then to Dean and Sam on the floor, taking in the situation.

“What’s—” he began, but stopped, his eyes wide.

“Get them out,” Mary begged him. “Please.”

Cas bent over, his face tight with pain. His nose started to drip blood as he grabbed at the wall for support. He nodded faintly, falling to his knees and seizing Dean and Sam by the collars. Then he faltered, blood running over his lips.

“Go,” Mary urged, squeezing his shoulder. “Go, Cas.”

The angel pulled himself together and disappeared with a gust of wind and a rustle of wings. Dean and Sam disappeared with him. Blood darkened the stairs where they’d been, filling the outlines of the sigils.

Mary stood up, turning to Toni. She nodded at the shotgun in the other woman’s hand.

“You know how to use that?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll fight our way out. Come on.”

[|][|][|]

For the second time in two days, Cas slammed front-first onto the ground. He coughed blood into the grass, curling up tight and releasing his grip on Dean and Sam. The wards had been weak enough for him to fly in and out, but strong enough to cause this. He shivered, coughing up more blood, and turned onto his side to rest his head on a tree root.

At least he had gotten Dean and Sam out. He should go back for Mary, he thought, but his body was exhausted. He knew he’d never make it to his feet. His Grace felt painful and cracked, like sunburnt skin.

Straining, Cas reached his fingers over to Dean. He laid them against Dean’s bloody forehead. All sign of the wounds disappeared. Cas felt the recoil in his damaged Grace and let out a faint groan. Dean gasped, lifting his head and blinking in confusion.

“Cas?” he asked.

Cas reached his fingers over to Sam.

“What happened?” Dean asked, pushing himself to his knees. “Cas, why are you hurt?”

“Wards,” Cas coughed, more blood flecking the ground. Sam was too far away; he tried to roll closer, and felt like his chest was caving in.

“Hold on,” Dean said, grabbing his hand to stop him reaching for Sam. “Cas, you don’t need to do this.”

Cas turned bloodshot eyes to Dean’s face, hardly seeing him. The fingers in Dean’s hand were limp.

“Yes I do,” Cas said, trying to tug his weak hand free.

“Why?”

“You would.” He cleared his throat, trying to swallow away the taste of blood.

“That’s different. He’s my brother.”

“You said I am too,” Cas said, Dean’s face slipping out of focus.

“Yeah, and you are,” Dean said firmly. “You—”

“So Sam is also my brother,” Cas said.

Dean released his hand. Cas wished his eyes would stay steady. He wanted to see Dean’s face. Then Dean caught his hand again and helped him reach further, laying his fingers on Sam’s head. A spike of pain flooded his whole body and he shuddered, closing his eyes.

Sam groaned beside him.

“Sam?” Dean asked, letting go of Cas’s hand. “Sam!”

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said tiredly. Cas turned half-open eyes to him. “Cas?”

He didn’t answer; he felt like he was sinking, falling slowly down.

Dean squeezed his shoulder, put two fingers to his neck. “We better get him to the car,” he said. “Away from here.”

Sam sat up. He rubbed his chest and grimaced. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

“One of us should wait here for Mom,” Dean said reluctantly.

There was a long pause.

“Mom?” Sam asked.

Dean turned to him, suddenly grinning. “Yeah,” he started. “Amara brought her back.”

Sam stared at him, blinked hard, and then glanced at the burning house. “What happened?” he asked slowly.

“We got you out,” Dean assured him. “That son of a bitch is dead.”

“Cannon?” Sam asked. “How?”

“His own spirit tore his heart out. Poetic justice.”

Cas coughed, trying to roll over. He’d rested enough; he could probably make it back to the car now.

“Hold on, Cas,” Dean said. “You’re staying right here.”

“Dean—” he started, but was interrupted by an explosion of glass and fire at the house.

They all looked around to see Mary and Toni sprinting toward them across the grass, flames streaking the night behind them, licking out the door like hungry geysers. As they watched, the spirit of a young woman in a black dress appeared on their heels. Mary spun around as Toni kept running, and the sound of her shotgun blast was lost in the roaring of the flames. The spirit disappeared.

“Mom?” Sam said.

The two women reached them, both breathing hard. Their arms and faces were flecked with small burns; their clothes full of singed holes. Sam was standing open-mouthed; Dean looked up at him and grinned.

“Can the spirits get this far?” Mary asked.

“No,” Toni said. “They can’t be far from the warding. We’re safe.”

Mary relaxed, her eyes on Sam. “Sam.”

“Dean?” Sam asked, his voice faint. “Are we dead?”

Dean couldn’t remember ever smiling this hard. “No, Sammy. That’s really Mom.”

“Mom?” Sam asked, his eyes filling with tears.

She was already crying, tears streaking the ash and dust on her face, but she smiled. “You are tall,” she said, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him.

She should have looked tiny, holding her 6’4 son in her arms. But somehow Sam folded against her, tucking his chin against her shoulder, as if he was a small child being held for the first time by his mother. His shoulders shook. Mary rubbed his back, soothing him softly, as Dean watched from his position beside Cas. The angel looked from Dean to the pair, and then settled his eyes on Dean’s smiling face, his eyes soft.

Sam pulled away first. He wiped his eyes, sniffing. “How—” His voice broke, and he looked over at Dean, his face still wet. “How is this possible?”

“Amara brought me back,” Mary explained. She cupped her hand around Sam’s cheek, smiling and crying at the same time. “She gave you back to me.”

Sam touched her hand, as if to reassure himself that it was real. He looked from Mary to Dean and back. “But why? Why’d she do that?”

“I guess she liked me,” Dean joked, to cover the fact that his own eyes were burning. He bent closer to Cas. “How you feel? Ready to go?”

He nodded, so Dean lifted Cas’s arm up around his shoulders, helping him sit up before wrapping his own arm around the angel’s waist. Grunting, he hoisted Cas off the ground. Sam stepped forward, grabbing his other arm and helping.

“What happened?” Sam asked for probably the hundredth time. He made a visible effort to pull himself together, but a wild grin still split his face in two.

They managed to get Cas on his feet, though his legs were mostly limp beneath him. Dean didn’t let go.

“The wards in the house are designed to incapacitate any supernatural being who comes inside them,” Toni said. She had been hanging out at the edge of the forest, half turned away from the happy reunion. Now she looked at them, holding the knife and shotgun out in offering.

“Toni,” Sam said.

“Hi, Sam.”

“What made you leave Cannon?” he asked, taking the weapons.

“Wasn’t much of a choice,” she said, shrugging.

“Thank you,” Sam said.

She looked back at the burning house. “I better get going.”

“To where?” he asked.

Mary walked over to Dean and Cas, taking the angel’s other arm and pulling it over her shoulder.

“Back home,” Toni said. “Trevor’s waiting for me.”

“Trevor?”

“My son,” Toni said.

“I thought the only family you had was your sister.”

“I only told you about her,” Toni said, starting to head toward the manor’s long drive. “She’s dead. You couldn’t do anything to her. You might have to Trevor.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said.

“I couldn’t take that chance.” Toni smiled at him. “Good-bye, Sam. Dean.”

“Are we letting her go?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam nodded, and Mary said, “Yes.”

“She did kidnap Sam,” Dean pointed out.

“She has a son,” Mary said. “We won’t stop her going back to him.”

Dean couldn’t argue with that. He got a better grip on Cas’s waist and led the way haltingly back down the hill, toward the car, with his family.

[|][|][|]

_The demon stood at the Gate of Earth, staring at his old home for the first time in centuries. It had barely changed for not having him in it. He felt nothing. “Come,” he said to the one behind him._

_They stepped back onto the old planet, letting the Gate swing behind them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally wrapping up where they left us in season 11. Now to start my own storyline. :P In case you thought this was it, I have more plans. Stay tuned!


	10. The World They'd Known

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter makes up for any pain I may have caused with the last one. <3

Crowley was waiting for them when they made it back to the rental car. He paced forward as they stepped out of the trees, Sam leading the way with his arms full of weapons, while Dean and Mary supported Cas.

“I don’t know if I want to know,” Crowley said.

“You don’t,” Dean grunted.

Sam went to the back seat, pulling the door open. “Crowley, how come you’re here?”

“Thought I’d crash the family reunion,” he replied. “Your mum’s nicer than mine, Moose. Want to trade?”

“Hah,” Sam said. “No way.”

“Watch your head,” Dean said as he helped Cas slip into the backseat. “There you go.” He released the angel’s arm, placing it neatly on Cas’s lap. “How you feeling? You okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cas said. His eyes barely focused before they slipped shut. “I would like…to rest.”

“Go right ahead,” Dean said, squeezing his shoulder. “Wake you when we get there.”

He pulled out of the backseat and shut the door, watching Cas’s head loll against the headrest.

“Let’s go,” Dean said.

“We should have rented a van,” Mary said, looking around at the group.

Dean groaned as Sam laughed, “Alright, who wants to squish in the back?”

“Not me,” Crowley said, holding a hand out to Sam. “I’ll take the weapons.”

“What?” Sam asked sharply.

“We couldn’t fly with them,” Dean explained. “Crowley brought them over here for us. Can I have the keys?” Crowley handed them over.

Sam made a face. “You let him in the bunker?”

“We didn’t have a whole lot of options,” Dean said.

Sam sighed and gave Crowley the weapons. “Maybe you should take Dean back, too,” he said. “He gets cranky when he has to fly.”

“Shut up,” Dean said.

“Much fun as that would be,” Crowley said. “No. Gimme the knife, Moose.”

He held out his hand expectantly. After a moment of stalemate and an unhappy look, Sam handed over Ruby’s knife.

“Don’t want to lose something so valuable to airport security,” Crowley said.

“Don’t want to be unarmed around the King of Hell.”

“I’m ousted, Moose, remember?”

“We all know that’s not going to last long,” Sam snapped.

Crowley shrugged. “Hell’s changed.”

“What’s that mean?” Dean asked.

“Maybe I’m looking at bigger and better things now. You never know.”

He disappeared.

“Weird,” Dean said.

“Can I drive?” Sam asked. “Mom’ll sit in the front. You can keep an eye on Cas.”

Dean frowned, but Sam had an almost childish smile on his face that Dean wouldn’t say no to.

“Fine,” he said, passing him the keys. “Drive on the left.”

“I know we’re in Europe, Dean.”

“Just checking.”

Dean pulled open the back door and slipped in beside Cas. The angel was breathing softly, his eyes shut, his face still covered in dried blood. Sam got in the driver’s seat, Mary beside him, and started the car.

“Is Cas buckled?” Mary asked.

“No?” Dean said, giving the back of her head a confused look.

“Are you buckled?” she said.

Sam wisely reached over and pulled his seatbelt on, peering at Dean in the mirror. Dean leaned over Cas, fumbling to pull his seatbelt over his shoulder. Cas opened his eyes blearily.

“Dean?” he mumbled.

“Go back to sleep,” Dean said gruffly, sitting back and buckling the angel’s seatbelt. He stared pointedly out the window as he fastened his own. Sam pulled away from the side of the road.

“How long have you been back?” he asked Mary.

“Just since yesterday. Not long.”

“We have to have a party or something,” Sam said. “This is incredible…. I can’t— Mom, I can’t believe you’re back.”

“Me neither, Sammy.”

Dean turned to look at them.

“Oh,” Sam said.

“What’s wrong?” Mary asked.

“It’s just…. No one but Dean calls me that. It’s like, it’s weird to hear it from someone else.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just… It’s gonna take some getting used to, but… I want you to. You can call me Sammy.”

“Okay, Sammy.”

“Now it’s just getting weird,” Dean piped up, grinning. “Shut up and drive, Samantha.”

Mary shook her head. “You’re both so mature. It’s very refreshing.”

They laughed.

Sam spent the ride asking Mary as many questions as he could think of. Did she remember Heaven (“only bits and pieces”); why had Amara resurrected her (“for Dean,” she said proudly); what movies did she like (“ones that are so old you probably haven’t seen them”); was she going to live with them in the bunker (“of course, Sam. As long as you want me to?”); did she like philosophy (“that’s kind of random. Yeah, I do actually”); how did she feel about religion (“it's supposed to bring people together. When it breaks them apart instead, that’s a problem”); what flavor of ice cream did she prefer (“chocolate, but there are probably more flavors now that I’ll have to try”). So many questions Dean had never thought he’d know the answer to. For either of his parents. He listened intently, and promised himself he would never forget a word of this conversation.

He chimed in occasionally, adding his own question to Sam’s interrogation. What did she want to do now that she was back in the world (“find a bathroom. Can you pull over, Sam?”); did she want to find someone new to marry (“not yet. I’d rather figure out this century, you know”); was she going to hunt with them.

“I don’t know,” Mary said, after a long, thoughtful silence. “I never wanted to be a hunter. I grew up in that life. Like you both. I never had a choice. I don’t know what I’ll do now.”

“You don’t have to hunt,” Sam said. “Dean and I have been, but that doesn’t mean you have to.”

“I know, Sam. But if you two are on a hunt, and I’m not there, and you get hurt? You’re my sons.”

No one answered that. Dean glanced over at Cas and saw that his eyes were open and mostly alert. He’d been listening for a while, it seemed.

“Yeah, well,” Dean said. “It’s up to you. We’ve been doing fine—” He stopped short of saying ‘without you.’

Mary sighed. “It’s a hard life to leave. I only managed because I was leaving for someone. And he ended up going right back in.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I know you didn’t want Dad to—”

“You and your brother both,” Mary said. “Stop apologizing for other people’s choices. John made his own mistakes. I should be sorry. I’ve missed everything.”

Dean and Sam both exploded with protests.

“Mom, it wasn’t your fault either!”

“You were killed! What could you have done?”

“It was the yellow-eyed demon’s fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself.”

Mary smiled. “Thank you both. And I hope you realize. I missed 33 years of motherhood. I have a lot to make up for.”

Dean smiled, but Sam looked worried. “What exactly does that include?” he asked.

Mary shrugged. “Not sure yet. I’m not gonna do all the cooking just because I’m your mom. That’s not gonna happen. But definitely bed time. I always loved bed time. And full background check on any partners you bring home.”

“What?” Dean demanded. “Mom!”

“I’m not worried about you, Dean. It’s Sam I’m watching out for.”

“What’s that mean?” Sam asked, looking slightly guilty, but Mary smiled.

“Is it my turn? Can I ask for every detail of you boys’ lives?”

“Go for it,” Sam said, but Dean shook his head.

“Can it wait until we get to the bunker?” he asked. “A lot of it is pretty crappy.”

“But—” Sam began, looking like he might pop with all the words he was suppressing.

“Of course, Dean,” Mary said. “And you don’t have to share everything if you don’t want to. I’m not that kind of Mom.” She turned around in her seat to wink at him. Dean rolled his eyes. “Plus we need Cas in that conversation,” she continued, looking at the angel. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Mary said. “Cas, I never should have asked you to go in there.”

“It was the only way to save Dean and Sam,” he said simply.

“That’s not your job,” Mary answered. Dean looked quickly back and forth between them. “It’s mine.”

“And you did your job,” Cas said. “They're safe. I don’t blame you, Mary.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I did the right thing. I was desperate.”

“Mom, what—” Sam started.

“Cas was hurt because of me,” she answered. “But it wasn’t my choice to make.”

“I knew what would happen if I came inside,” Cas said. “I honestly thought it’d be worse. But I’m healing. I should be able to walk to the plane.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We're all sorry for something,” Dean said, trying to laugh. “Family’s great, right.”

Sam and Mary grinned. Even Cas had strength for a weak smile.

“Guess we’re in for all the chick flick moments,” Sam said.

Dean laughed. “That’s not my fault.”

“Not mine either,” Mary said.

They reached London just before sunrise. Dean was too happy to dread the impending flight. He had his whole family around him, and he felt invincible.

“You know what we have to do?” Sam said as he pulled into the parking lot of the car rental. “We have to call everyone. Invite them to the bunker. Have a big party. Can we have a big party?”

“With what friends?” Dean asked. He was preoccupied with Cas’s face, which was still streaked in blood. No way was he getting on a plane looking like that.

“Jodi and Claire…Alex…Donna…Garth…” he trailed away, thinking.

“Yeah, and maybe Chuck and Amara will come back,” Dean said. “Come on, Sam. No one’s gonna come.”

Sam frowned, turning the car off. “Fine. I hope they have a key drop.”

He opened the door to get out.

“Can you clean yourself up?” Dean asked Cas.

The angel shook his head.

“Grab some towels or something!” Dean called after Sam.

“They’re closed!” he replied.

“I’ll get some from that gas station,” Mary said, gesturing across the street from the rental. She got out, too, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll go with—” he started, but Mary stuck her head back in the door and smiled.

“Stay with Cas,” she said. “It’s just a gas station, Dean.”

Sam came back to the car. “Where’s Mom?”

“She went to get towels to clean Cas up,” Dean said, shrugging.

Sam looked nervous. “Alone?”

“She’ll be fine.”

“Maybe I should—”

“There she is.” Mary was walking out of the station, her hands full of paper towels, some wet, some dry.

“Here, Dean,” she said, handing them through the window to him. “Can I use your phone to call a taxi?”

“Sam has one,” he said absently.

“I know how to use yours.”

He shrugged, and handed it over.

“Thanks.” She retreated.

Dean gave Cas a wet paper towel, which the angel stared at for a long moment before clumsily hefting his hand up to his face.

“Geez,” Dean said, catching his wrist and stopping Cas from whacking himself in the eye. “You’re a mess, man.” He guided the paper towel gently over the bloodstains, patting them away.

“Really,” Cas muttered, his eyes slipping shut as Dean wiped the blood from his lips. “I didn’t know.”

“Hey, no sleeping,” Dean said. “You still gotta get into the airport. I don’t think they’ll let us carry you.”

“Angels don’t sleep.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

Cas’s face was mostly clean now; Dean patted him dry. He looked up at Sam and Mary, who were both on the phone, waiting for him and Cas. It was starting to get hot without the air conditioning on.

“Ready to go?” Dean asked.

The angel nodded, pulling himself forward on the back of Mary’s seat. Dean jumped out and ran around the car to get the door for him. Cas was steadier on his feet than Dean had expected. He moved slowly toward the street.

“Are we walking there?” Cas asked.

“The cab should be here in a minute,” Mary said.

Cas leaned against a street sign as they waited. Dean stood close in case he fell over. They piled in the taxi when it pulled up.

“Shame not to see more of London,” Sam said as the driver pulled away from the curb. Mary had had the insight to order them a van, so everyone had plenty of room.

“Maybe we can come back,” Mary said. “Family vacation. A real one next time.”

“That’d be nice,” Sam smiled.

They had a few hours to wait before the next flight to the US. Cas shut his eyes as soon as they found seats, leaning his head against the back of the chair. Everyone was exhausted, but Dean couldn’t sleep.

“I’ll keep watch,” he assured them. “Maybe I’ll sleep on the plane.”

Sam frowned, studying him, which Dean really wished he wouldn’t do.

“Okay, Dean,” Mary said. “But if you get too tired, wake one of us.”

“I will.”

“Good night.”

She kissed his forehead, leaned the other way to do the same for Sam, and then after a moment’s thought, kissed Cas too. The angel’s eyes opened wide, shocked. Mary smiled uncertainly, and after a moment, Cas’s lips curved up and he closed his eyes again.

Mary and Sam settled themselves on the seats across the aisle from Dean and Cas, stretching out. They crossed their arms over their stomachs in almost identical motions, relaxing. Dean smiled watching them.

He jumped when Cas said, “I’m happy for you, Dean.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Your family is here.”

He couldn’t keep the grin down. “Yeah.”

Cas watched him for another minute before settling back in his seat. “I’m not going to sleep. You can, if you want.”

“I’m good. I can’t— I don’t want to miss anything.”

They sat quietly, the sounds of the sleepy airport echoing around them.

“You, too,” Dean said after a bit.

“What?” Cas asked, opening confused eyes.

“Your family’s here, too,” Dean said.

They stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Cas said, “Can I lean my head on your shoulder? This seat-back is very uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” Dean said. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay.”

Cas turned, scooting down in his seat until he could comfortably rest his head against Dean’s shoulder. His head fit snugly, warming Dean’s neck, Cas’s hair tickling his ear. It made Dean think of when he and Sam were kids, and Sam would fall asleep on long drives, leaning against Dean in the back of the Impala. He had a strange feeling in his chest, like a bubble swelling inside. A terrible fear almost made it burst. He took a deep breath and relaxed against Cas. His nose filled with the smell of the angel’s hair. He smiled, watching over them all as they slept.


	11. No Home Without the People

At Mary’s insistence, their seats were in the middle aisle of the plane. They had the whole row: Sam, Mary, Dean, Cas. Dean managed to doze off as the plane waited to start taxiing on the ground. He dreamed that he was falling, past the crust of the Earth and deep into Hell, and awoke with a jerk as the plane started to take off. Cas and Mary’s shoulders were pressed against his in the tight confines of the seats. He leaned back, trying to close his eyes again. Mary was humming Hey Jude.

They landed smoothly back in Tampa, and Dean insisted that they drive the rest of the way. He’d done the whole two-flights thing on the way there, when they were pressed for time and needed to reach Sam quickly. But now, with no reason to hurry, there was no way he was getting back on a plane. Like, ever.

Sam complained that the drive from Tampa to Lebanon would be over 20 hours, but Dean wasn’t having it. They were going by car and if Sam didn’t want to come, well, he could buy his own plane ticket. But Mary persuaded Sam to join them.

“It’ll be a family road trip,” she said. “Come on, Sam.”

He finally nodded, but said, “What about the Impala?”

“She’s in Kansas,” Dean lamented. “We’ll have to rent another car.”

“You’re not gonna have Crowley bring it to us?” Mary joked. Dean considered it, but then decided Crowley probably wouldn’t do it.

“Nah,” he said.

They piled into the rental car, Dean in the driver’s seat, Mary beside him, and Cas in the back. For some reason, Sam was on his phone, a few feet from the car. Dean stuck his head out the window.

“Hey, come on!” he said. “Let’s go!”

Sam glared at him and turned his back. Dean chuckled. By the time Sam opened the door, Dean was roaring to go. He bee-lined out of the parking lot. They’d drive as long as possible today, find a motel to crash in, then keep driving all day tomorrow. Jet lag had nothing on Dean. He wanted to be home, with his passengers and his car. They’d stop at the airport, ditch this piece of crap, pick up Baby, and be home within two days.

[|][|][|]

Dean shoved open the bunker’s door and immediately reached for his gun, which he remembered a second later he didn’t have. The bunker was filled with voices, the sounds of people moving. His heart hammered in his chest.

“Jumpy much?” Sam asked, moving past him. But the taunt wasn’t too barbed; he understood Dean’s reaction. He’d just been expecting people to be there.

“Dammit, Sam,” Dean muttered without real anger. “What’d you do?”

“Just invited some friends over,” Sam said innocently. “Mom said you’d left the bunker open for Crowley, so I figured they could wait in here for us. Aaron says he’s sorry he can’t make it.”

“Aaron?” Dean asked. “My gay thing Aaron?”

Sam smirked, nodding as he continued down the stairs, Mary and Cas behind him. The angel turned to look at Dean, his eyes questioning.

“I’m coming,” Dean said.

The noise came from a group of people lounging around between the war room and library. Mildred was sitting at the snack-laden table, chatting happily with Donna. Jody turned away from her conversation with Jesse, Cesar, and Garth, raising a hand in welcome. Behind her, the others were smiling. Claire walked into the room and called over her shoulder, “They’re back. Come on!”

“Claire,” Jody said. “Go get—”

Alex and Eileen appeared in the doorway, holding a massive cake between them. The writing on the cake said, “Welcome home!”

Despite himself, Dean was beaming. He couldn’t remember smiling this much, for so many days in a row, since…well…ever. He worried the bubble would burst.

Eileen and Alex deposited the cake on the table, between a plastic bowl of cheesy popcorn and a half-gone platter of homemade brownies.

“We wanted it to say, ‘Welcome back from Heaven,’ or ‘Happy Resurrection,’” Claire said dryly. “But the store couldn’t do it on short notice.”

“That’s bull,” Dean said, looking at the cake appreciatively. “They shoulda been able to do it.”

“I agree,” Mary said. “Next time.”

“I really hope there won’t be a next time,” Sam said.

“So you must be Mary,” Jody said. She stuck out her hand. “Sheriff Jody Mills. I’ve spent some time with your sons.”

Mary shook her hand; Jody was taller. “Not that kind of time, I hope.”

Jody laughed. “No, the fun kind. Not that fun kind. Never mind. We’re friends.”

“I’m glad to hear that. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dean elbowed Sam. “Great, now we’ve got two Moms.” Sam rolled his eyes. “How’d you get them all here?”

“I thought we’d get back here yesterday. But instead we drove.” Sam inclined his head at Dean. “So they beat us here. I wanted it to be a surprise when they showed up.”

“Yeah, but what’d you tell them?” Dean asked.

“That we were celebrating,” Garth called over the other conversations. “What other reason do we need?”

Dean shook his head, half grinning. “Yeah, but,” he turned to Cesar and Jesse, “you guys had to drive from Mexico?”

Jesse shrugged. “Free food, man.”

“We were planning a getaway, anyway,” Cesar said happily.

Cas took a seat across the table from Mildred. He was completely healed from the damage the warding had wrought, and was eyeing the brownies thoughtfully.

“You can have some,” Donna said, pushing them toward him. “Made them myself.”

“They’re very good,” Mildred added, indicating the chocolate residue on her paper plate.

Dean couldn’t believe this was happening. His family and his friends, in the one place they’d all be safe…

“How ‘bout we cut the cake?” he said, clapping his hands together.

Everyone gathered around as he picked up the knife, cutting the first piece carefully. He hadn’t cut many cakes in his life, after all.

“God, could you be any slower?” Claire complained.

“Hey,” Jody reprimanded.

“He prefers to be called ‘Chuck,’” Sam said.

“What?” Claire asked.

Sam shrugged as Dean held the first piece out to Mary. “That’s what he said. He prefers ‘Chuck.’”

Claire’s eyes were narrowed, as if she couldn’t decide whether Sam was making fun of her or not.

“It’s best not to ask,” Mary muttered to her.

“Did you invite him to this?” Dean asked absentmindedly, passing a plate to Mildred and Cas each.

“I prayed, but he’s probably busy,” Sam said.

“You prayed,” Dean repeated. “If they show up, I’m blaming you.”

“Do we want to know what you guys have been up to?” Jody asked.

“Probably not,” Cas said.

Finally, everyone had their piece of cake and Dean lifted his plate and said, “To Mom.”

The others echoed him and dug in, drifting back to their own conversations.

“What’s your name, hon?” Mildred asked Cas, leaning toward him.

“Castiel,” he said, swallowing a bite of cake. “But I prefer ‘Cas.’”

“I’m Mildred. This is Donna.”

“I’ve heard about you. Sam and Dean fought a banshee with you. And they’ve hunted with you several times,” he said to Donna.

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘hunted,’” she said humbly, grinning around her cake. “More like ran around panicking until the monsters were dead.”

“In my experience, that can be a large part of it,” Cas said. The two women laughed.

“How do you know our Golden Boys?” Mildred asked.

“We’ve known each other for a long time. Many years. It’s difficult to describe the course of our relationship.”

“Oh?” Mildred asked, quirking an eyebrow. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Sam and Eileen were talking near the wall. Sam kept having to put down his plate to practice a sign; he was taking one bite every five minutes. Garth was watching them intently, but it was unclear whether he understood anything they were signing. On the other side of the room, Dean was deep in conversation with Jesse, Cesar, and Claire.

“So far we’ve got four horses,” Cesar said. “I have my favorite, Jesse has his, but they’re our herd.”

“And what’s it like leaving the life?” Dean asked. “Are you bored?” He directed the question mostly at Jesse, who answered happily:

“Nah. Life doesn’t have to be trying to kill you to be interesting. And you don’t have to be trying to kill something. ‘Though there’s this one coyote I’d really like to get. Bastard _wants_ the chickens.”

Dean laughed, his eyes flicking to the table. He dragged them quickly back to the conversation.

“Different kinda monster,” he joked.

“We’re happy,” Cesar said. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever have that.”

“I was sure I wouldn’t,” Jesse added.

“But why’d you give up hunting?” Claire asked. She reached casually for Dean’s beer, but he pulled it away.

“Are you crazy?” he hissed. “Jody’s right there!”

“She’s not watching!” Claire hissed back. “Just a sip.”

“Get your own.”

“She’ll see that.”

“Then don’t have any.”

Cesar cleared his throat. “Sorry,” Dean said. “Claire had asked you something.”

“Why we gave up hunting,” Jesse said, looking thoughtful. “It wasn’t enough anymore. We—I’d done what I set out to do, and it was time to move on.”

“What’d you set out to do?” Claire asked.

Near the middle of the room, Jody and Mary were deep in discussion.

“They’ve been great,” Jody assured her. “They’ve had some rough times, but they had each other. You’re coming back to a good family.”

“I’ve been gone so long,” Mary sighed. “I don’t even know them.”

“I adopted Claire and Alex,” Jody said bluntly. “They had hard lives, and nowhere else to go. At least those two are yours.”

“Is your family happy?” Mary asked, smiling.

“Eh, we have our ups and downs. It’s always nice when your boys come visit. Although it usually means some kind of trouble.”

“Hunters tend to bring that.”

“Hunters tend to fix it, too.”

Alex had joined the group sitting around the table. Mildred kept glancing from Cas to Dean as she spoke, her expression a knowing smile.

“I think I’m starting to understand,” she said, gesturing broadly with both hands. “Follow your heart, and you’ll be happy. I know I am.”

“Excuse me,” Cas said, rising from the table. He left his plate and slipped out of the library. Dean’s eyes followed him.

“It was the perfect final case,” Jesse was saying. “Great one to end on. And now we’ve got the horses, and—”

“How about a picture?” Jody called over the assorted conversations. “Dean?”

He turned around, calling back, “Yeah, okay.”

Sam looked up from Eileen’s hands. “Who’s gonna take it?”

“The cameras on your phones can be set to a delay,” Mary said.

Dean was impressed. “Look at you. Two days ago you didn’t even know that was a phone.”

“I’ve been doing research,” Mary shrugged. “I’ve got 33 years of the world to catch up on.”

“’Atta girl,” Jody grinned.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asked.

“He went that way,” Mildred pointed.

“I’ll find him,” Dean said. “Sam’ll figure out the phone.”

“Don’t take too long,” Mildred said, in a weirdly conspiratorial tone that confused Dean a lot.

“Okay,” he said uncertainly, and went into the hallway.

Cas was in the bedroom he’d used each time he stayed with them in the bunker. He sat on the bed, staring at his hands, clasped in his lap.

“Hey, man,” Dean said, standing in the doorway. “We’re gonna take a family picture.”

“Okay,” Cas said, squinting up at Dean. He didn’t move, though.

“So you should come,” Dean said.

Cas tilted his head. “That’s okay.”

“You hafta be in the picture, Cas. What’s wrong?” Dean stepped into the room, puzzled.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas said tiredly.

“Come on, man, you’ve been acting weird. You’re not possessed again, are you?” He was trying to lighten the mood, but Cas’s face fell, and he turned away.

“Take it without me,” he said.

“Cas—” Dean started.

“I’m serious, Dean. Go back to your family.”

“If you don’t want to take a picture, that’s fine. We won’t do one.”

“It’s not that. Go take the picture, Dean.”

“Not if you don’t come.”

“I don’t want to come.”

“Then don’t.”

They fell silent, staring hard at each other. Cas looked away first.

“Talk to me,” Dean said. “Come on, Cas.”

“I’m going to try to find Lucifer.”

“What?” This seemed random, and threw Dean considerably. “Who cares about Lucifer?”

“I do, Dean. I let him out into the world, and who knows what he could be doing now.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m with you on that. But right now? We weren’t even talking about him.”

“We should have been.” Cas stood up, putting himself only a couple feet from Dean. “Everything happened so fast, so I didn’t say anything. God, Amara, finding Sam. But now I have to fix this, Dean. This is another problem I’ve brought into the world. I have to find him.”

“That’s not on you,” Dean protested. “We all thought we needed Lucifer’s help. You were trying to save the world. We’ll find him together.”

“It’s my responsibility.”

“Join the club!” Dean said, his voice rising. “You want to hold all of this yourself? Fine! I won’t stop you. But I’m coming with you.”

“No you’re not. You’ll slow me down.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m going alone, Dean.”

Dean stepped closer, until he and Cas were almost nose-to-nose. They glared at each other. “You’re not gonna go hunting for that asswipe yourself. No chance. Either I come with you, or you don’t go. This is a family problem. I bet Sam wants to catch him as much as you do. And I’m not letting either of you chase the Devil yourselves.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean said. “I’m not letting anyone go on a suicide mission. Not when we’re finally all—”

“No.” Cas’s voice was softer, confused. “You keep saying that.”

“Saying what?”

“‘Family.’”

Dean paused. “’Course I do.”

Cas tilted his head. “Dean, I’m not your family.”

Dean stepped closer so their chests were touching. His heart was hammering in his chest and he wondered if Cas could feel it.

“Like hell,” he growled. “You’re my brother. The things we’ve done for each other—over and over again—do you think anyone but family would do that?”

“But I’m—”

“You’re my brother. You and Sam, there’s no one else I’d rather have with me. For anything.”

“But Sam—”

“Sam and I have been in this forever. But you were with me in Purgatory. You tried to stop me giving in to the Mark. You were there, Cas. Whenever Sam wasn’t. You were there.”

“Dean—”

“Come take the stupid picture.”

He took a step back, inhaling as though he’d been holding his breath through the whole conversation.

When Cas spoke, his voice was measured. “I don’t know where I fit. Now that Mary’s here.”

“Hell, I don’t know either,” Dean said. “It’s really weird. Having her back. We’re all figuring this out.”

“I can go—”

“No you can’t.”

They met each other’s eyes again, standing together in a long silence.

“Okay,” Cas said finally. He nodded, more to himself than Dean, and they returned to the war room.

Everyone was arranged in front of the table when they got back. Sam was standing at the camera, which they had propped on a chair a few feet away.

“Finally,” he complained.

“Have fun?” Mildred asked, winking.

Dean ignored this and came to stand beside Mary, who immediately put her arm around his waist.

“You two okay?” she whispered.

“We can all hear you,” Claire whispered back.

Dean beckoned Cas to come closer. The angel stood stiffly beside him. Sam pushed the button on the phone and booked it around the table.

“Five seconds,” he said as he took his place between Mary and Jody. She put her arm around him as well.

Cas still wasn’t standing close enough. Dean put his arm around the angel’s shoulders, gently urging him closer. Cas looked over at him as he obeyed the pressure. Dean met his eyes, grinning.

The camera flashed, and Sam said, “Stay where you are, I’ll check it.”

He returned to the phone, looking at the picture. He made a face at Dean. “Stop staring soulfully at Cas and look at the camera.”

“I wasn’t!” Dean yelped, his ears growing hot.

Beside Cas, Cesar chuckled.

“He started it,” Dean mumbled.

“We’ll do one more,” Sam sighed.

“Can we do funny faces?” Alex asked.

“I think that was the funny faces one,” Garth said.

Sam pushed the button and ran back over. “Look at the camera, jerk.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

The phone flashed, and this time Sam deemed the picture acceptable. They left photograph formation, drifting away to comfortable distances. Neither Dean nor Cas moved, although Dean did put his arm down.

“My hair looks weird,” Jesse said, leaning over Sam’s shoulder. “Can we do another?”

“You’re bald,” Eileen said to him.

“Thanks,” Jesse said dryly.

Dean went over to the phone, to see the picture for himself. His breath caught.

Unlike the picture they’d taken years ago at Bobby’s, everyone was smiling. Mary was beaming, her arms wrapped around him and Sam. Jody was on Sam’s other side, her right arm around Alex, and squeezing Claire’s arm. Jesse and Cesar stood close on the left side, their arms around each other’s shoulders. Mildred stood beside Jesse, her eyes twinkling as though she knew something they didn’t. Eileen was sandwiched between Claire and Garth, their arms casually around each other. Cas stood under Dean’s arm, smiling uncertainly, but smiling nonetheless. Dean looked at his own smile. He couldn’t believe this was his family.

“Thanks,” he heard himself say. They fell silent, and he looked up at them. “Thanks.”

Sam raised a beer. “To family,” he said.

“To family,” they echoed.

[|][|][|]

_The demon slipped quietly through the front door, his power dampening its aged squeak. The one behind followed, his eyes cast down._

_“Search,” the demon commanded, and the other moved past him into the house._

_The demon ascended the staircase. He pushed open first one door, then the next, and next, but every bedroom was empty._

_“They should be here,” he said thoughtfully._

_“The house is empty,” said the other, standing behind him._

_“Very well,” the demon said. “Come.”_

_They left the house untouched but for the smell of burnt ozone, and a lingering residue of sulfur._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a bit more fluff next chapter, and then things will go to hell again. This is Supernatural, after all. ;)
> 
> EDIT - 9/13/2016:  
> Thanks to a devoted reader, it has come to my attention that Aaron Bass deserves some air time. I've added this into the conversation Sam and Dean have as they enter the bunker (so you don't have to go back and read it over):  
>   
> “Just invited some friends over,” Sam said innocently. “Mom said you’d left the bunker open for Crowley, so I figured they could wait in here for us. Aaron says he’s sorry he can’t make it.”  
>   
> “Aaron?” Dean asked. “My gay thing Aaron?”  
>   
> Sam smirked, nodding as he continued down the stairs, Mary and Cas behind him. The angel turned to look at Dean, his eyes questioning.  
>   
> “I’m coming,” Dean said.


	12. The Hunted Running

Dean would’ve liked the party to go on all night, but Jody and Donna both had work the next day, and insisted on getting back that evening. Donna left first, much to Mildred’s disappointment. Since Jody and the girls also had a long drive, she wanted to leave by six, but Claire bargained for an extra two hours by promising she and Alex would do all the driving. Dean offered the rest to sleep over, but in the end, Cesar and Jesse booked themselves a hotel, Eileen and Mildred went home, and Garth said he’d rather spend the night on the road, hunter-style. So the four Winchesters were the only ones who’d be staying in the bunker that night.

Dean went to bed relatively early. He was wiped out from all the travelling they’d done in the past couple days, and just wanted to stretch out on his memory foam. He wiggled his toes under the blankets and sighed.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Come in?” Dean called, lifting his head and twisting around.

Mary opened the door, poking her head in.

“Hey, Mom,” Dean said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, stepping inside. Dean reached for the lamp beside his bed, flicking it back on as she closed the door gently. “I wanted to say good night.”

Dean frowned. He had said good night when he left the rest of them lounging in the living room, and Mary had replied.

She sat beside him on the edge of the bed. Dean stared, unsure what she was doing. Tentatively, she reached over and brushed a hand through his hair. He froze for a moment, then lowered his head back to the pillow, scrunching it comfortably beneath his face. Head turned to the side, he watched Mary with one eye; she was smiling. A matching grin came over Dean’s face as she rubbed his head gently.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I don’t… I guess I don’t really know how to be your mother. But I want to do this.”

“I don’t mind,” he whispered. “I’m just, not really used to it, that’s all.”

“I know,” she said sadly. “But I’ll fix that.”

He grinned in response. “Who’s gonna tuck you in?” he asked sleepily.

Mary chuckled. “Don’t you worry about that. I’m a big girl.”

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll do it?” he asked. He was older than her, after all.

“No, Dean. That’s never going to be your job. Don’t worry about me.”

He opened his heavy eyes, frowning. “But—”

“I know you feel responsible for Sam. You’ve done such a good job. But I’m your mother. You never have to take care of me.”

Dean hesitated. He’d always been the caretaker. For Sam especially, but also for Dad; when he’d come back to the motel hurt from a hunt, Dean had been the one to patch him back up. “What if you get hurt?” he asked. “Or sick?”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Mary said. She leaned forward, kissing his forehead and ruffling his hair a bit more. “I love you, Dean.”

His throat stuck. She said it so easily. But it didn’t seem lessened because of that. If anything, it felt more true. She stood and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. Then she turned the light back off.

“Sleep well,” she said as she opened the door and slipped through. She’d almost closed it again when Dean found his tongue.

“Mom?”

She looked back in, puzzled.

“Love you too.”

[|][|][|]

Mary went in to Sam next. She felt compelled to make sure her boys were happily tucked in before she went to bed herself. It felt right.

He was sitting in bed when she knocked, his computer on his knees.

“Mom?” he asked as she came in.

“Hi, Sam,” she smiled. “I’m here to tuck you in.”

“Oh,” he said. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Uh, okay,” he said. He closed his laptop, putting it beside him as she sat on the edge of his bed. Like Dean, he didn’t seem to know how this went.

“Want to lie down?” Mary asked.

“Oh,” Sam said. He scooted his butt down, lying back against his pillow and watching her carefully. Mary sighed.

“I was just in with your brother,” she said. “This is new to all of us.”

Sam gave a weak laugh. “Yeah. It’s kinda weird.”

Nodding, Mary said, “What do you want from me, Sam? As your mother. I’m trying…I need to learn what you boys need.”

He looked at her with large eyes. “I don’t need anything,” he said. “You’re here. I’ve never had that before.” A lump rose in Mary’s throat, and Sam immediately looked apologetic. “I didn’t— It’s not your fault, Mom.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she said, running a hand through his hair. He leaned into the touch. “But that doesn’t change the reality. I’ll always be there for you now.”

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly. Mary smiled.

“I love you,” she said, kissing his forehead.

“I love you, too,” he said.

She left him grinning and shut the door softly. Cas was in the hallway, heading for his room. They almost ran into each other.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” Mary said. There was a moment of awkward silence. “Can I talk to you?” Mary finally asked.

“Yes?” he said uncertainly.

She followed him to his room, which was set up similarly to Dean’s, except without any indications that someone lived in it. “We should get you some decorations,” she mused.

“Decorations? Like Dean’s guns?”

“Or something else. I don’t know why he wants to have weapons all over his walls,” she said. “We could start with a plant or something.”

Cas looked around at his bedroom, frowning.

“You know, something that will make it more yours,” Mary said. “If you want.”

“It’s not mine,” Cas said, shrugging.

“I thought you lived here?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?” she asked. Cas sat on his bed and stared at the ground, looking very small. “Cas?”

“I’ve talked to Dean,” he said. “But he’s…very stubborn. I can leave if you want me to.”

Mary sat beside him on the bed, unsure of herself. Their relationship was still up in the air; she didn’t know how to think of him yet. All she knew was that he was very important to Dean and Sam, and that he had proven how much they meant to him.

“Why would I want that?”

“I’m not your son,” he stated. “You have your family here. I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Where would you go?” Mary asked.

He shrugged. “I have to find Lucifer.”

They had caught her up on the adventures of the past several years during the drive back from Tampa. Mary couldn’t believe some of the things they’d done, but it filled her with pride to think about it. She shook her head. “I thought all of us were going to do that.”

“I let him out. It’s my responsibility.”

“That’s too big for just one person,” she said. “Even if you are an angel.”

Cas didn’t answer. They sat quietly for a long moment. Mary knew what she’d say to Sam or Dean, but she didn’t feel right acting like a mother to Cas. He was older and much more powerful than she could ever be, but in this moment, he seemed dejected and fragile. She didn’t want to cross a line without realizing.

“We’ll help you,” she offered. “I know that much.”

Cas sighed. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said. She hesitated, but then stood up. “Are you going to sleep?”

“Not yet,” Cas said. She nodded, patted his shoulder once, and went to the door.

“Thank you for protecting this family,” she said, reaching for the handle.

He didn’t look up from his contemplation of the floor. “Barely,” he muttered as she shut the door. She wasn’t sure if he’d meant for her to hear.

[|][|][|]

Dean woke up to his phone blaring beside his ear. It just about gave him a heart attack. He reached blindly, his hand clumsy with sleep and surprise.

“Hello?” he groaned.

“Dean, it’s Jody,” said the voice.

“Jody?” He forced himself to sit up, rubbing a hand over his face. “What’s wrong?” The clock on his nightstand said 2:14AM.

“Let me go back!” Claire’s voice said in the background. “We can’t just let it—”

“That’s exactly what we’re gonna do,” Jody told her firmly. “Dean, listen. We got back to the house, but the whole place smelled like sulfur—” Dean snapped wide awake, horrified.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“We’re fine. We left. We’re coming back to you.”

“Yeah, good. As fast as you can,” Dean said. He rubbed his face again, standing up. “Why would a demon go after you?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t stay around long enough to find out. Claire doesn’t know anything either.”

“That’s smart,” he said, nodding absently. “Get yourselves here. We’ve got plenty of room. You can stay as long as you need.”

“Thanks. Dean, you should check on the others. If a demon came to us, it could go after them, too.”

“I will. Call me back if you find any more sulfur. Or anything else.”

“We will. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

They hung up, and Dean went to Sam’s room, knocking loudly.

“Mhmm?” Sam asked from inside. Dean barged in.

“Jody just called me,” he said. “Demons were at her house.”

Sam sat up. “What? Why?”

“Don’t know,” Dean said. “They’re coming back here. We have to call the others.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll text Eileen.”

“Get Mom and Cas, too,” Dean said, already dialing Donna.

She answered sleepily. “Dean?”

“Oh, good, you’re okay,” he said. “I’m calling to warn you. Jody’s house was attacked by a demon. We don’t know why.”

“A demon?” she asked, and he could hear a rustling that must have been her sitting up in bed. “Are they okay?”

“They’re fine. They’re coming back here. You should, too.”

“I appreciate it,” she said. “But I don’t think I can. I only got back a coupla hours ago. It’s too long a drive to do again.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” Dean said. “And in the meantime, put lines of salt in front of every window and door.”

“That’ll be a pain to clean up.”

“So will your blood all over the floor,” Dean snapped.

A pause. “That’s a cheery thought,” she said.

“Sorry,” Dean said.

“It’s okay. It’s 2 in the morning.”

Sam came into the room, texting furiously.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be okay, Dean. I’ll get head back there tomorrow. Better call in sick to work.”

“Call back if you notice anything weird. People with black eyes, sulfur, flickering lights. Anything.”

“Okay,” she said. “Thanks for calling.”

The calls with the others went much the same. Jesse and Cesar left their hotel immediately, heading back to the bunker. Dean was about to call Aaron when his phone started ringing in his hand. His heart skipped a beat and he answered it almost before registering who the call was from.

“Garth?” he asked urgently.

“Dean!” His voice shook on that one word. He sounded close to panic. “Dean, it’s Bess—” He choked off.

“Slow down,” Dean said. “Take a deep breath, man. What happened?”

Struggling to hold himself together, Garth gasped, “I just got a call. Bess said— She said these two guys came by…. She said…. She said they wanted her to go with them— They knew what she was—he was a demon. She got away, but she’s hurt and I don’t know how to find her….” He dissolved into shaking breaths, and Dean shut his eyes.

“Get yourself back here,” he said slowly, and Garth exploded.

“I can’t leave her!” he choked. “Dean, I—”

“You’re a mess, man!” Dean shouted back. “Come back here, and we’ll drive up to Wisconsin together. You’re useless if you crash on your way there.”

Garth took several unsuccessful calming breaths. “But she’s hurt….”

“It’s gonna take us ten hours to get there,” Dean reasoned. “Come on, Garth.”

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, I’ll be there in an hour.”

Dean hung up; the others were looking at him with concern. “Garth,” he explained. “Bess was attacked. We have to go find her.”

Sam nodded. “He’s coming here?”

“Yeah. I guess the party’s back on,” Dean said humorlessly.

[|][|][|]

“Who would be going after your friends?” Mary asked, her expression serious.

Dean could think of several people, but nothing seemed to match up.

The four of them were gathered in the library. Jesse, Cesar, Eileen, and Mildred had all arrived by now, and were getting settled in the bunker’s extra rooms. Garth should arrive in the next fifteen minutes.

“It could be Lucifer,” Cas said. “He still has power over demons, and since he walks free….”

Sam shuddered, and Dean said, “God, I hope not.” His fingers unconsciously touched the amulet he wore around his neck. Since it had started working now, he’d decided to wear it, if only so Chuck couldn’t sneak up on them.

“Maybe the British Men of Letters?” Sam asked, and Dean knew they were thinking the same thing. That even that ancient, powerful organization would be a preferable enemy to the Devil Himself. “They’re probably pretty pissed at us.”

“Their leader died,” Dean said. “And they used ghosts, not demons.”

“They probably could,” Sam reasoned.

“Crowley?” Mary suggested.

Dean liked that thought less than the thought of Lucifer being behind this. “Why would he?” he asked. “There’s no motive.”

“He’s a demon,” Mary said as though this was reason enough.

“With Crowley there’s always some endgame,” Dean said. “This just doesn’t feel like him.”

“Rowena?” Cas said.

“Could be,” Sam agreed. “Maybe she’s controlling them.”

“Yeah, but why?” Dean asked. “And why now? We just worked together and saved the world.”

“I don’t know. Who else could it be?”

“You should call Crowley,” Mary said to Dean. She talked over his protest. “No, Dean, I know you don’t think it’s him. But we can’t ignore the possibility, and if it’s his mother, maybe he knows something.”

“He has gone after people close to us before,” Sam said, his voice low and gruff. Dean flooded with a mixture of shame and loathing. “And it wouldn’t be the first time he went after Jody.”

“Fine,” Dean said, standing up and not looking at any of them. “You see if you can think of anyone else.” He left, pulling out his phone in the hallway so they couldn’t overhear.

Crowley answered lazily, just before it went to voicemail. “It’s a little early for a call, Squirrel.”

“Tell me this isn’t you,” Dean growled at him.

“I’m most certainly me,” the King drawled.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Not my fault you didn’t specify,” Crowley said. “What are you talking about?”

“Demons are going after our friends,” he snapped. “Sound familiar?”

There was a slight pause before Crowley said, “Well I didn’t have any company when I did it. It was more of a solitary venture.”

“You’re not part of this?” Dean asked.

“No. I’d say we’re long out of that stage of our relationship.”

“Shut up,” Dean said. “Is Rowena?”

“Hope not,” Crowley said. “If you’re seeing my mother, Squirrel, I’m going to have to put my foot down.”

Dean wished this conversation was happening in person, so he could punch the audible grin off Crowley’s face. “You know what I meant,” he growled.

“I do. And I don’t know anything about Mummy Dearest making plans to hurt your people. She certainly wouldn’t use demons to do it.” Dean exhaled. “Speaking of which,” Crowley continued. “How’s your mum?”

“Good,” Dean said automatically. “Do you know of anyone who’d do this?”

“I know plenty of people who’d like to try,” Crowley replied. “But the only one I know of who has the juice right now is Lucifer.”

Dean squared his jaw. “Yeah. We thought of him. Thanks, Crowley.”

“Squirrel?”

“What?”

“There wouldn’t happen to be two demons gunning for me, would there?” he asked.

Dean hadn’t thought about it. He’d been worried about their human friends. “Maybe you should lay low for a while,” he said uneasily.

“I assume you’re taking measures to protect the others?”

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“And I assume your clubhouse will soon be full of the laughter of happy children?”

“Uh.”

“Enjoy that,” Crowley said. He hung up, and Dean put the phone down.

[|][|][|]

They got in an argument when Garth arrived. Dean planned to drive with Garth and Sam up to Wisconsin to find Bess. Cas refused, heading to his room saying he needed to set out looking for Lucifer immediately, before he did any more harm.

“You’re not going to do that alone,” Dean insisted, following him. “It’s all of us, or no one.”

“Dean,” Cas returned, whirling around in the hallway to face him. “Even the Bunker isn’t safe from him. He knows how to get in here. You can bring everyone here, and they will still be in danger.”

“I know!” Dean said. “Dammit, I know. But that doesn’t mean we’re sending you out to go find him while we stay here and fortify. No way. I’m not doing that again, Cas.” His voice softened at the end, and he looked at the ground in shame, glad they were alone.

“It’s my responsibility,” Cas said, looking away.

“Mine too,” Dean said stubbornly. He wasn’t letting Cas take it all on himself.

“Sorry to interrupt the drama,” Jesse said, joining them in the hallway. With him came Cesar, Garth, Sam, and Mom. “But this is the wrong argument to be having. Cesar and I will drive up with Garth. You four go find Satan.”

“No way,” Dean said immediately. “It’s too dangerous. You should stay here.”

“We’re hunters just like you, Dean,” Jesse argued. “We—”

“You just got out!” Dean said. “We’re not dragging you back into hunting. You could get killed, or—”

“Come on, Dean,” Cesar interrupted coolly. “That’s not your decision.”

Dean shook his head, but Cesar kept talking.

“We’ve come up against demons before. And this isn’t even a fight. It’s a rescue. I’ll come out of retirement for that.”

“Me, too,” Jesse said. “You’ve all got a bigger fish to find. Go hunt with Castiel, Dean.”

“Promise you won’t try to fight the demons,” Sam said.

“Promise,” Cesar said.

“And promise you’ll find Lucifer,” Jesse added. “I don’t want to have to live in this hole for too long.”

“Call us if anything goes wrong,” Dean said, his teeth gritted.

Before they left, he gave Jesse an angel blade and Ruby’s knife. “They won’t work on Lucifer,” he explained, “but they’ll work great on demons.”

Jesse handed the angel blade to Cesar, and they both nodded.

“Good luck,” Cesar said.

“You too.”

[|][|][|]

Each of them packed a duffel bag, which they loaded into the Impala’s trunk. Cas was anxious to go, packed before any of the others and waiting in the back seat as Dean put his and Sam’s bags in the trunk. He turned to Mary.

“Mom—”

“Don’t say it, Dean. I’m coming.”

He tried to laugh. “Alright.”

“But, Mom,” Sam said. “You can stay here…. You’ll be safer. You don’t have to go back to being a hunter. And the others could use some more protection.”

They had beefed up the Bunker’s defenses, including adding holy oil traps on the main doors and the bedrooms, and an automatic text on everyone’s phones that would send an SOS if they didn’t disable it every few hours. Aaron was on his way, and once he got there, the Golem would be added security for everyone. It was dangerous for them to be in the bunker, but the consensus was that they’d be safer here, with a fortress and weapons, than they would be in motels.

“I know I could, Sammy,” Mary said. “But I’m coming. Let’s stop having this argument every time?” Sam and Dean looked at each other.

She put her hand on the passenger side door. “Sam, do you want the front?”

Dean was just about to get into the driver’s seat. “Actually,” he said awkwardly. “Can Cas be in the front?”

The angel looked up from the backseat, confused. “Why?”

Dean shrugged, not looking at any of them. “You’d probably know best where he is,” he said.

They did some rearranging: Dean and Cas in the front, Sam and Mary in the back. Sam leaned forward, resting his arm on the back of Dean’s seat to participate in the conversation. Mary was listening intently.

“So, where we headed?” Dean asked as he pulled out of the garage.

“I can’t track him,” Cas said. “He will have taken measures to remain undiscovered. I’ll have to summon him.”

“Summon the Devil,” Mary said quietly. “Of course.”

“Is that really necessary?” Sam asked, clenching his fingers on the back of the seat.

“Yes,” Cas said. “It’s the only chance we have. I have to convince him to come to me. Which means he can’t sense anything that would make him suspicious. That’s why I should have gone alone.”

“Yeah, well that's not happening,” Dean said firmly.

“We want to come, Cas,” Sam said. Dean glanced at his brother in the mirror. He looked pale, and there was an old fear in his eyes. But his voice was steady, his shoulders set. Beside him, Mary nodded.

“This is a family venture,” she said. “How else can we defeat the Devil?”

Dean reached out, clapping a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “We got your back, man. Let’s go summon Satan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to plot!
> 
> EDIT - 9/13/2016:  
> In keeping with the edit from last chapter, I have added a snippet about Aaron. He's not a main character, but he deserves to be mentioned.  
>   
> They had beefed up the Bunker’s defenses, including adding holy oil traps on the main doors and the bedrooms, and an automatic text on everyone’s phones that would send an SOS if they didn’t disable it every few hours. Aaron was on his way, and once he got there, the Golem would be added security for everyone. It was dangerous for them to be in the bunker, but the consensus was that they’d be safer here, with a fortress and weapons, than they would be in motels.


	13. Take It All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more feels-heavy than any yet. It's also the main reason for the 'Self-Worth Issues' and 'Mental Health Issues' tags. If those might be triggering for you, please message me on [tumblr](http://ordered---chaos.tumblr.com), and I'll do my best to give you a non-triggering summary.

Bobby had had safehouses all over the country, many of which had now been abandoned for years. In the interest of not being too far from the bunker, while still having enough distance that Lucifer wouldn’t be tempted to go there instead, Dean drove to a safehouse in Oklahoma’s finger. It was a small cabin, fully-stocked with weapons and canned provisions. Dean opened the front door, and somehow the house smelled like _Bobby._ Musty books and cheap whiskey, and something indefinable that Dean had never smelled except in Bobby’s house, something he associated with warmth and safety. But there was no way Bobby had spent that much time here, so maybe Dean’s mind was playing tricks on him. He breathed deeply anyway.

Sam came in behind him, carrying two bags. “Oh,” he said softly, and they exchanged small, sad smiles.

They brought their things in and set up shop. Dean went through the cabinets; Sam checked the warding. It was such an old safehouse that it didn’t have any of the angel wards they knew. Sam cut his arm and applied a few in strategic places. They had banished Lucifer once; they could do it again if they needed.

Mary saw the cut on Sam’s arm and pursed her lips. “Sammy,” she said.

Sam looked at her, then his arm, and tried to hide the wound from her sightline. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“No, Sam, it’s not,” Mary said. “Most men hardly ever see themselves bleed. How many times have you had to hurt yourself?”

He thought back; Dean wracked his brain, too. The only times in his life he had not regularly accrued more scars were when he’d taken breaks from hunting. But he didn’t want to say that.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t forget women. They don’t see themselves….” His joke trailed away. “Oh. Awkward.”

Mary raised her eyebrows.

“You should put a sigil on this door, too, Sam,” Cas said. Since they’d arrived, he’d been a man determined, trying to get them moved in and prepared for Lucifer as quickly as possible. He seemed to have missed the whole conversation.

Sam went over, drawing more blood from the wound. “Cas will heal it, Mom,” he said defensively.

“That’s not the point,” Mary sighed, bringing her bag into the other room. The cabin only had the main room, with a counter to divide off the kitchen, one bedroom, and a tiny bathroom. They’d be quite cozy while they were here.

“Cas, if we end up having to use those, we’re probably also gonna have to run for it,” Dean said. “Bobby has another safehouse in northern Texas. Meet us there?”

“Of course,” Cas said. “It may take me a while, depending on how far the sigil sends me.”

“Can’t you just teleport?” Sam asked, finishing the sigil. Cas reached over, touching his arm, and the cut vanished.

“Short distances, like in and out of that manor,” Cas said. “Anything else is beyond me right now.”

“But your mojo seems fine,” Sam said, indicating his repaired arm.

“My powers are intact,” Cas said. “My wings are not.”

“Still?” Sam asked, dismayed.

Dean elbowed him in the ribs. “Let it go,” he muttered. Cas’s expression had crumpled. Dean wondered if Cas had been able to feel flight while Lucifer possessed him. Somehow he doubted the Devil would have let Cas out to enjoy anything.

Sam shrugged, giving Dean a strange look. “Sorry, Cas.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m going to prepare the summoning.” He walked out the front door.

“I thought you talked to him?” Sam said as the door swung shut. Mary poked her head out of the bedroom, checking who had left.

“I did,” Dean said. “He’s gonna be fine,” he added dubiously.

“Hope so,” Sam said. “Are you sure it’s okay that he’s here? Seeing Lucifer again might not be so good for him.”

“He needs this,” Dean said. “One of us should get closure.”

“All of you should,” Mary said, rejoining them. Dean stared out the window, but Cas wasn’t visible.

“I guess we’re ready?” Sam asked, fidgeting. “Once Cas gets back?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Let’s get this over with.” He wished Cas would come back in.

“Should we have lunch first?” Mary asked. Dean looked around, and the dreary atmosphere seemed to lift just a bit.

“Wouldn’t want to die on an empty stomach,” he said, trying to grin. He pulled some cans from the cabinet. “Gross,” he said, checking the labels and throwing a pot on the stove.

[|][|][|]

Castiel stood alone in the cabin’s main room. The lunch dishes were in the sink, waiting to be washed if they survived this. Dean was hiding in the kitchen, behind the counter; Mary in the bedroom; Sam in the bathroom. Each of them had a sigil next to them, ready to be used. In addition, they had inscribed a sigil on each wall, which would prevent an angel from flying out of the cabin once they were inside. Cas had suggested it, but said there was a chance an archangel would be able to overpower them. Dean also had a lighter and a waiting Molotov of holy oil, which would kill Lucifer provided they could trap him first. The middle of the room, just in front of Cas, was soaked with a circle of holy oil. The smell of Bobby was overpowered by the oil’s thick scent.

Cas stood with his back to the kitchen. He held a wooden bowl full of assorted spell ingredients, including dried wormwood, a snakeskin, and a few drops of his own blood, which contained pieces of both Castiel and Lucifer’s Grace. All the ingredients were sprinkled with holy oil. When lit, the spell would definitely attract Lucifer’s attention. Dean wanted to peek around and get a glimpse of the angel, but he held still. His heart pounded in his throat and ears; he hoped the Devil wouldn’t be able to hear it.

Cas lit a match and the bowl flared up. He spoke in Enochian, his voice was as low as Dean had ever heard it. The hairs on his arms stood on end. “Lucifer,” he continued in English. “I’m coming for you. I’m going to find you, and throw you back in the Cage. I won’t stop until you can’t threaten this planet ever again. If you want to survive, you better come fight me. End it before I end you, or die trying.”

They waited. Dean held his breath, his fingers itching. He felt as though the air had grown heavy, and he was on a hair-trigger for the telltale flap of wings.

After five minutes, Cas spoke again. “I’m a loose end, Lucifer. Come fight me. I’m probably the one angel who can hope to stand against you. Me and the Winchesters. Don’t you want a challenge? A victory? Amara defeated you easily. Come. Reclaim your station. Are you scared someone like me can beat you?”

Dean heard his voice growing rougher, and forced his cramping fingers to unclench from the neck of the Molotov. He stared at the floor, unseeing.

“What are you waiting for?” Cas said, his voice rising, as though Lucifer would hear him if he yelled. “Come kill me. Nothing could have stopped you before! Just do it. And the world would be so much better. Where are you? Is a moment too much to spare for killing me?”

Dean swallowed hard, feeling like a rock had latched onto his stomach.

“Coward,” Cas said.

They waited more. But Lucifer wasn’t coming. Dean knew. He knew it as surely as he knew that Cas’s voice had broken because there were tears were running down his face. Sam cracked open the bathroom door. His face was white, and he looked at Dean, questioning. Dean stood up at the same moment that Cas took two steps, pulled open the cabin door, and slammed it behind him.

“Cas!” Dean shouted. Mary and Sam emerged from their hiding places. Dean had his hand on the doorknob when Mary yelled, “Wait!”

“He can’t be alone!” Dean said, wrenching the creaking door back open.

“Neither can you!” Mary shouted back. “Lucifer could come at any time!”

“I know!” Dean said. He turned his back, striding out the door, and almost walked straight into Cas, who was standing just outside the door.

“Cas?” Dean asked, glancing around at their surroundings; the driveway was clear.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas said. His voice was back to normal. “He’s not coming.”

“Yeah,” Dean said uneasily. “I can see that. Wanna come back inside?”

Cas’s head tilted down. Dean couldn’t see his face, but something about the slumped shoulders made him want to reach out, touch his arm, hug him, something. Anything other than stand silently while Cas suffered alone through whatever was going on in his head.

“Cas?” he asked again.

“I’m fine,” the angel repeated. He turned around, pushing past Dean into the cabin.

[|][|][|]

None of them relaxed all afternoon. Lucifer could still answer the summons whenever he chose. He knew where Cas’s prayer had come from. No one planned to sleep that night. They had another meal of canned goods—baked beans and brown rice—which Mary deigned to prepare for them. Dean joked that maybe they’d taste better since they’d been cooked with a mother’s love, but when he took his first bite, the only pleasurable sensation was the heat. Their taste matched the mood around the table: stale and flat. Cas hadn’t spoken since he’d come back inside, despite their attempts to draw him in.

Dean shoveled spoonful after tasteless spoonful into his dry mouth, darting anxious glances at Cas. He knew that his friend had been feeling crappy probably since before opening himself to Lucifer, but this silence made him think harder. _Come kill me_ , Cas had said. He had known that Dean and the others had been waiting to come to help him if Lucifer showed up, but still…. Dean wondered if Cas had been hoping Lucifer would be able to act quicker than they could. He had been in this position himself before. He knew the helplessness Cas was feeling. He knew the fear. He knew how much pain you had to be in to say those words. _Come kill me. Nothing could have stopped you before._

“So, uh, Mom,” Sam said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them like several feet of snow. “Want to hear about the time Dean turned into a dog?”

“You what?” Mary asked, inviting the story with a smile.

Sam launched into it. Only a few sentences in, Cas stood up. “Thank you for the food,” he said, indicating his untouched bowl. “Excuse me.”

He left the cabin, ignoring Sam’s uncertain, “Cas?”

“I’ll be back,” Dean said, leaving his meal half-finished and following.

He caught up to him at the Impala. Cas was standing beside the trunk, watching the wind blow in the thick grass.

“You didn’t need to follow me,” he said as Dean approached.

“I wanted to,” Dean said. He leaned against the side of his car, watching Cas with his hands in his pockets. “Talk to me, man. Please?”

They stood silently for a while. Dean watched the tension in the backs of Cas’s shoulders. They hadn’t had a break in so long. The wind pulled at the hem of his trenchcoat, the only part of him that was moving.

Finally, Cas sighed. “I don’t know what to say, Dean. I don’t…. I don’t know.”

Dean pulled away from the Impala, stepping closer. “Maybe start at the beginning?”

“In the beginning there was Amara, apparently,” Cas said.

“Very funny. You’ve been acting weird. Is it about Chuck?”

“No.” His tone was final.

“He didn’t ever really talk to you, did he?” Dean asked. He supposed it might have happened after he went to bomb Amara, but Cas hadn’t mentioned a conversation with his father.

“No, he didn’t,” Cas said. “I don’t want to talk about this, Dean.”

“Then what do you want to talk about? Come on, Cas. Something’s been eating you for a while. Let me help.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t you dare tell me you’re fine,” Dean growled. “You can lie to Sam and Mom, but I know something’s up, Cas. Stop being stubborn and just tell me.” When Cas didn’t answer, Dean plowed on. “Is someone threatening you? Is there some spell on you? Tell me who to kill, Cas, and I swea—”

“Dean.” His voice was soft, broken. He turned around and his blue eyes were fixed on Dean’s face. “There’s no one to kill but me.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean said, stepping closer. “Don’t ever say that.”

“It’s true,” Cas said, his eyes wide, searching Dean’s almost desperately. “Why should I continue to exist? What do I bring to the world that is any better than what others bring? I have ruined so much. The world would be better without me. You would be better without me.”

“That’s not your decision,” Dean said. He glared at Cas, but he was also caught slightly wrong-footed. He hadn’t expected this conversation to end up here. “I want you around, Cas. I’ve told you that.”

“Yes,” Cas said. “It’s very kind of you to say.”

“Shut up,” Dean said, and he was actually angry now. “What, you think you know what I want better than I do? Don’t bullshit me, Cas. Every one of us is messed up. We’ve broken and put each other back together so many times it’s not even human. You included. Because that’s what family _does_. You’re not getting out of that.”

“I don’t deserve a family, Dean. Especially not one as good as yours.”

Dean put a hand on his shoulder. The wind died, and suddenly it was just him and Cas, standing alone together. “Too bad,” Dean said. “You’re in it. We’re not letting you go. I’m not, Cas. You’re staying. I need you.”

Cas dropped his eyes as though Dean’s gaze had burned him. “The last time you said that to me, I’d beaten you almost unconscious. I’ve hurt you too many times, Dean. That’s not family.”

“Do you know how many times Sam and I have been at each other’s throats?” Dean snorted. “Occupational hazard. Plus, you weren’t you back then.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s really okay.”

“You may say that—”

“I mean it,” Dean said fiercely. “Blood is just blood. Shared, spilled. It’s all family.”

Cas stared at him, his head tilted and his brow furrowed. He inhaled to speak, but Dean’s phone rang. Abruptly, he realized how close he was standing to Cas. He pulled back a step, expression apologetic as he reached for his phone. If it was someone calling from the bunker, if they were under attack there…. The caller ID said ‘Jesse Cuevas.’

“Sam!” Dean shouted. The cabin’s door flew open. Sam and Mary stood there, weapons in hand. “Catch!” Dean said. Despite his surprise, Sam caught the phone when Dean tossed it. He looked down, then back up at Dean, frowning.

“We’re busy,” Dean said, waving him back inside. He and Mary shrugged and disappeared, shutting the door. “Where were we?” Dean asked, turning back to Cas.

The angel was watching the ground, where the wind now pulled at the grass, weaving it like hair on a giant’s head.

“Cas?” Dean said softly. “Look. I don’t really know how I can say this. You’re family. I can’t make you believe it, but I’ll keep saying it over and over. You’re family, Cas.” He cleared his throat, wishing Cas would look up. It would be much easier to say this while caught up in the spell of his gaze. Briefly, Dean wondered if that was normal. “I’ll say it as many times as you need me to. You’re my brother. You’re my family.” Cas looked up; their eyes met, and Dean felt like the world had narrowed into that one spot. Even the wind couldn’t touch him. “We would do anything for you,” he said. “I would do anything for you. And I know you’d do anything for me. Hell, both of us have. You don’t go through crap like we have and stay alone. None of this—I wouldn’t be here, if it wasn't for you. You’re family, Cas.”

“I’ve failed so many times,” Cas whispered. His eyes were broken, shining, but they were the only thing in Dean’s world.

“So have I,” Dean said. “Maybe that’s why this works.”

“The blood on my hands—”

“As much as mine.”

“I let Lucifer free, to walk the earth—”

“You did what you had to do.”

They were standing very close to each other. Dean could feel the heat coming off Cas’s body.

“I was powerless to stop it. Any of it,” Cas said. “Powerless, Dean. Helpless. Afraid.” He said it with disgust in his eyes, but he didn’t pull them away.

“You’re only an angel,” Dean said. He wanted to do something with his hands, but he couldn’t figure out what, so he just balled them into fists. “Hey, we’ve been playing with some pretty heavy hitters lately. Compared to them, you’re like what I am to you.”

“You’re infinitely better than me, Dean.”

He snorted. “No way, man. You’ve always tried. That’s why you’re still here. Still fighting.”

“Not lately.”

Dean put a hand on the back of Cas’s neck. He didn’t know why. He was pretty sure he’d been aiming for his shoulder. “Everyone needs a break sometimes,” he said. “You’ve been fighting longer than I have, and I’m exhausted. You deserve a break.”

“That wasn’t a break. That was giving up.” His eyes searched Dean’s, suddenly full of fear. “I gave up, Dean. I was so _weak_.”

“Hey, hey. Stop it,” Dean said, squeezing the angel’s neck. “Cas. Stop it. You’re allowed to be. You don’t have to be a superhero all the goddam time. Take it from me. It doesn’t work.”

“You would never have given up like I did.”

“That’s because I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, and that’s not a good thing,” Dean said. “More so than you are, don’t deny it.” He tried to smile, tried to bring some emotion other than shame onto Cas’s face, but Cas just looked down, wetting his lips. “You’re family, Cas,” Dean said again. “I’ll say it as many times as I have to.”

“I’m not worth it—”

“That’s bullshit. We’ve all pulled some awful crap. Maybe that’s why we deserve each other.”

Cas shook his head, pulling away from Dean’s hand. “I should go.”

“What?” The spell was broken as though the phone had rung again. Cas stepped away, shaking his head.

“I can’t drag you down again, Dean,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll find Lucifer myse—”

Dean grabbed his arm with both hands. His grip would have bruised a human, but Cas only looked around in surprise. “You’re not going anywhere,” Dean growled. His heart was hammering, and this time he hoped Cas could hear it. Hoped that somehow, Cas could tell just how much Dean was feeling right now, how much he couldn’t find the words to express. “You’re staying, Cas. Please. Please, man. I need you. I—” His throat stuck. His voice broke. “Cas.”

His eyes were wide. They stared at each other as the wind played through their hair, dancing between them like the words neither could say. Dean would get on his knees and beg if he had to. Beg his best friend to never leave again.

“Okay,” Cas said. He lowered his head, looking at Dean’s hands clasped around his arm. “I’ll stay.”

Dean exhaled in a whoosh that made his throat burn. “Good,” he said. “Good.” He nodded, more to himself than Cas. “God, I need a beer.”

Keeping one hand on Cas’s sleeve, he turned, pulling the keys from his pocket and opening the trunk. He popped the cooler and took out one for each of them.

Cas accepted it, and Dean reluctantly let go of him to unscrew the top. They took a sip in unison, drinking silently for several minutes. They leaned against the car, their shoulders brushing against each other.

“I’ll say it whenever you need me to,” Dean said. He shot a sidelong look at Cas.

“I know,” Cas said. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” Dean took another large swallow.

“I don’t know how to not feel like this,” Cas said after a long silence. “I don’t remember.”

Dean chucked without humor. “Me neither,” he said. “That’s what people go to therapy for.”

“Maybe we should try that.”

Dean laughed for real this time. “Oh, Sam’d love that. I’d never live it down.”

Cas smiled, and it brought more relief to Dean’s chest than seeing Chuck and Amara exiting the world peacefully. He finished his beer and leaned back contentedly.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you…could you say it again?”

“You’re family, Cas. You’re my family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: 9/21/2016  
> I added this sentence, clarifying the warding they've put on the cabin:
> 
> Castiel stood alone in the cabin’s main room. The lunch dishes were in the sink, waiting to be washed if they survived this. Dean was hiding in the kitchen, behind the counter; Mary in the bedroom; Sam in the bathroom. Each of them had a sigil next to them, ready to be used. **In addition, they had inscribed a sigil on each wall, which would prevent an angel from flying out of the cabin once they were inside. Cas had suggested it, but said there was a chance an archangel would be able to overpower them.** Dean also had a lighter and a waiting Molotov of holy oil, which would kill Lucifer provided they could trap him first. The middle of the room, just in front of Cas, was soaked with a circle of holy oil. The smell of Bobby was overpowered by the oil’s thick scent.


	14. Favored in Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added this sentence to the last chapter, clarifying the warding they've put on the cabin:
> 
> In addition, they had inscribed a sigil on each wall, which would prevent an angel from flying out of the cabin once they were inside. Cas had suggested it, but said there was a chance an archangel would be able to overpower them.

Dean and Cas stayed outside for a long time. When they finally came in, the sun was setting and the temperature had dropped to chilly. The breeze whipped against the windows, seeping through the cracks and making them all shiver. Sam promised they hadn’t eavesdropped on anything the two had said outside, but Dean was still suspicious. They’d come to the door just a little too quickly when he’d called for them.

It turned out Jesse had called to give them good news. They had found Bess up in Wisconsin, were patching her up, and about to head back to the bunker. They hadn’t seen any sign of demons hanging around. The relief was tangible; despite the faith Dean had in their hunting abilities, he would feel much better when everyone he cared for was safely in the bunker.

He had three beers in him, and maybe that was what gave him the courage to stand up, look at Mary, and say, “Mom, can I talk to you?”

She nodded, and Dean led the way outside, Cas and Sam’s curious eyes following them. The sun had gone, but the sky was still the flat gray of early evening. Dean turned to face her when they reached the grass. Hopefully Cas’s angelic hearing wouldn’t be able to catch their words at this distance.

“Mom, I gotta ask you something,” he announced, more to gather himself than anything else. She waited patiently, brow furrowed. Dean wished he could’ve had something stronger than beer.

“I, uh…. This is gonna sound kinda weird. Um.” He rolled his shoulders, rubbing his hands together. “You might not like it.”

“Come on, Dean, it can’t be that bad,” Mary prompted. She was shivering, and Dean suddenly felt guilty for dragging her out into the cold.

“Cas is, uh. He’s having a hard time.” He hesitated again, hoping that hadn’t betrayed Cas’s confidence. “You know, since the Lucifer thing. Well, since… for a while, really. I was wondering…. I wanted to ask….”

“How you can help him?” Mary guessed, because Dean just couldn’t seem to get the words out. “Isn’t it obvious? Just—”

“No, that’s—That's not what I was gonna ask.” Dean balled his hands. Why was this so hard? She was his _mother,_ goddammit. “Wait, what’s obvious?”

“Never mind,” Mary said quickly. “What are you asking?”

“How do you feel about Cas?” The words left him in a rush, and he hated them instantly, because that was not how he wanted to say it. Mary took a step back.

“I don’t see why that matters?”

“It does!” he protested. “You’re my mom, and…. I told Cas that he is my brother.” Dean held her gaze as he said it. He wasn’t ashamed of this truth, but he needed to see how she reacted to it.

A smile touched her face. “So what’s the problem?”

Dean shifted, glancing back at the cabin’s lit windows. “So now you’re back,” he said softly. “Cas is my brother, Sam’s brother. But he’s not your son.”

He looked around at Mary’s soft gasp; her head was bowed to the ground, the smile gone.

“I know,” she said. “It’s complicated.”

“That’s what I was asking,” Dean said awkwardly. “How do you feel about Cas? Do you think…. Do you think…maybe…you could be his mom too?” It was childish, like asking to be someone’s best friend. He was stupid to ask her to take on a stranger as a son. It was unreasonable. He hated the way his voice turned small, pleading, the way he couldn’t take his eyes off her as he said it.

Mary was staring at the ground. She didn’t look up; her shoulders looked tense, her hands twisting in the hem of her shirt.

“Never mind,” Dean said suddenly. “It’s too much to ask, I know. Forget it. I’m sorry.” He made to turn around and go back inside. It was cold, after all.

“Dean.” Her tone made him stop; it was a mixture of pleading and exasperation. She followed him, and cupped her hand against his cheek. “Don’t ever be afraid to tell me what you need. Okay?” He nodded, startled by the intensity in her eyes. “Good. That includes what Cas needs. I don’t— This is all new. You’re new, to me. Last thing I knew, you and Sam were babies. Now, you’re everything you could be and more. And…. And anyone you care for as much as you care for Cas deserves to be part of this family.”

Dean felt as though the world had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and handed him a cup of hot tea. Suddenly the cold couldn’t touch him; his feet felt light and his head dreamy. He couldn’t think of what to say.

“And maybe,” Mary continued, “if I had lived to have a third son, he would have been someone like Cas.”

Dean blinked hard, rubbing his nose. “Thank you,” he choked.

“Nothing about me should ever weigh on you, Dean,” she said. “Now that I’m back, I won’t be that kind of mother.” She took his hand and started leading him back toward the cabin. “You’re my beautiful son. I hate everything that stopped me from seeing you grow up. I’m never going to miss anything important again.” She leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “And that includes Cas.”

[|][|][|]

They whiled away the night hours waiting. Sam had a book on one knee and an angel blade on the other. It wouldn’t kill Lucifer, but it would hurt him. Mary had drawn a sigil on a piece of paper and was carrying it around everywhere. Dean and Cas were never more than a few feet from each other.

But Lucifer didn’t come, and the night wore on in silence. The wind hissed against the windows, a fitting soundtrack for waiting for the Devil. Around 3am, Jesse called again, reporting that they had made it back to the bunker and everyone was safe. It was the only relief they had all night.

At 4:30, someone pounded on the door.

Dean leapt to his feet, lifting his blade and taking two running steps to put his back to the wall beside the door. His left hand hovered over a sigil, his whole body coursing with adrenaline. Cas took position in the middle of the floor. Mary matched Dean on the other side of the door, and Sam fell back to the bedroom, where hopefully Lucifer couldn’t stop him hitting their fallback sigil. Dean had insisted that Sam have that job.

“Open up,” said the accented voice from the other side of the door. “It’s bloody cold out here.”

Dean frowned. “Crowley?”

They exchanged looks. Dean shrugged, moving his hand to the doorknob, which was made of iron so demons couldn’t open it. Mary stepped back, tightening her grip on her angel blade. Sam drifted closer.

Crowley stumbled over the threshold, and that was the first indication Dean had that something was very wrong.

“Whoa!” he said, grabbing the back of Crowley’s suit jacket to stop him face-planting. The demon coughed, struggling to get his feet under him. The fabric under Dean’s hand squelched with blood. “What the hell happened?”

“Can I have a chair before we start the interrogation?” Crowley snapped, his voice strained. Dean hauled him over to the couch, letting him flop onto it. Mary shut the door as Crowley groaned.

His face was beaten and bloody; there were four parallel cuts down his cheek and his eyes were bloodshot. He curled in on himself on the couch, and Dean could see blood soaking the front of his suit, too.

“What happened?” he asked again. The others drifted closer, but everyone was still tense.

“I met your demon,” he said, glaring at Dean. “You can’t have small problems, can you?”

“They came after you?” Dean asked, his chest crawling with guilt.

“Well all your _friends_ were hidden away,” Crowley snapped, and Dean felt as though he’d been punched in the gut.

Mary took a seat on the couch beside the King. She leaned over, peering at his wounds.

“What are you doing?” Crowley asked.

“I’m deciding whether you’re hurt bad enough to justify using that tone on my son,” she said coolly. “Tell us your story, Crowley.”

Taken aback, Crowley shot a look at Dean. He took a deep breath. “My apologies,” he said, his voice calmer. “It’s been a rough night.”

“Hold up,” Sam said. He was still the farthest away, and seemed the most uncomfortable. “Cas?” he asked, and Cas looked around at him. “Is that really Crowley? You’d be able to tell if it was Lucifer in Crowley’s meat suit?”

“I would, Sam,” Cas said. “This is definitely Crowley. I see no trace of Lucifer. Which is strange, if he attacked you,” he added, turning back to the demon.

“It’s not Lucifer who’s gunning for your friends,” Crowley said. “It’s your long lost brothers.”

Dean gaped at him. Mary whipped her head around, looking from Dean to Sam and back.

Cas tilted his head. “Sam and Dean only have one long lost brother,” he said. “Why did you use the plural?”

“Because it’s your long lost brother, too,” Crowley said. “Adam and Michael have gotten themselves out of the Cage.”

“No,” Dean whispered. “No way.” He stared at Crowley, begging him to be lying.

“Adam?” Sam asked, finally coming closer. His eyes were huge; he ran a hand through his hair. “Adam’s alive?”

“It’s not Adam anymore,” Crowley said. “Don’t get confused. That soul has been in the Cage for thousands of years. And in true Winchester fashion, not only did it become a demon, but excels at it. It rose up in Lucifer’s absence. Congratulations, your brother rules the Cage now.”

Dean looked at Sam, feeling like the cabin’s air had turned to jelly, along with his knees.

“What about Michael?” Cas asked softly, coming to stand beside Dean.

“He would have become a demon a long time ago, if he could,” Crowley said. “He’s barely got any angel left in him; he’s nothing but Adam’s pet.”

Dean saw Cas’s jaw clench and thought about the oldest of the archangels, the most powerful being Chuck had created. He breathed out a few curses.

“Why’re they going after our friends though?” Sam asked. His face was paler than when he’d thought Lucifer was coming.

“Maybe Adam is angry he was left behind,” Crowley said, looking at Cas. “It’s what I’d do.”

Cas shifted. “Getting in and out of the Cage was nearly impossible,” he muttered. “Freeing Sam was hard enough, and I didn’t even—”

“You did everything you could,” Dean said over him, making him blink. “Crowley, how powerful are they? You said Michael doesn’t have any juice left?”

“He’s not useless,” Crowley said, gesturing at his bloody face. “But I’d say Adam’s wearing the pants in their relationship.”

“What level demon?” Dean asked. “Are we talking Knight of Hell, or—”

“He’s strong if he can boss my brother around,” a new voice drawled. “Michael wasn’t that far gone.”

Dean leapt to his feet. Sam tripped back toward the bedroom, and Dean threw himself between him and the new arrival. Cas stepped forward, his blade in his hand and a snarl on his face.

“Lucifer,” he said.

The Devil was standing beside the door, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pocket. He was wearing the old meat suit he’d used while waiting for Sam to say yes seven years ago.

“Don’t look so surprised, bro,” he said. “You did call me.”

Crowley had knotted both fists in the fabric of the couch, tense and furious. Everyone was glaring at Lucifer, who seemed quite relaxed.

“I wouldn’t’ve come if I knew this was the kind of welcome I’d get,” Lucifer said, picking at a chip in the plaster behind him. His eyes slid over to them. “Your prayer seemed so desperate, Castiel.”

Cas bristled, and Dean stepped forward to stand at his shoulder. “We wanted you here to end you,” Cas said.

Lucifer sighed. “I’d hoped this could be a more social visit.” His expression twisted into a smile that only could have been worse if it had been with Cas’s face. “Shame.”

“So this is Lucifer?” Mary asked, raising one eyebrow. She stood up from the couch, her own angel blade casually by her side. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“And who’s this?” Lucifer asked. “I haven’t seen you before. You look like Sam.”

“I’m his mother,” she said with a kind of fierce pride that made Dean’s heart swell even though he stood less than ten feet from the Devil himself.

“Are you,” Lucifer drawled. His eyes swept up and down her stance, considering. The look made Dean shiver. “Interesting. You’ve been dead for a long time.”

“I’ve heard,” she said. “You knew this was a trap. Why’d you come?”

“Businesslike, I appreciate that,” Lucifer said. He pushed off the wall, unfolding his arms. “Like Sam.”

“Alright enough,” Dean said gruffly. “Mom’s right. Why are you here?” He gripped the blade tighter, preparing for the inevitable attack.

Lucifer’s Cheshire smile widened. “Oh, being your enemy is so much better than being your ally. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean demanded.

“I’m not here to fight,” Lucifer said, spreading his hands in surrender. “I’m here because we’ve got a common enemy.”

“Yeah, you,” Dean said, taking another step forward. Cas matched him.

“No,” Lucifer said, and suddenly the air was ice cold. Dean’s breath turned to vapor as it left his mouth. “Adam. Your abomination of a brother.”

“I thought that was me,” Sam said from the back of the room. He’d been silent so far, hovering in the background by a sigil.

“Oh, hi, Sammy,” Lucifer said, leaning dramatically to peer around Dean. “You’ve been quiet. I almost didn’t notice you.”

“Shut up,” Sam snapped.

“You’re not an abomination,” Lucifer said, his eyes meeting Sam’s past Dean’s shoulder. “You’re perfect for me.”

Sam shuddered and Dean took two steps, grabbing the front of Lucifer’s shirt and slamming him back against the wall. He must have caught the archangel by surprise, or he wouldn’t have been able to push him at all. But in that moment Dean didn’t even think of that. He didn’t care that Lucifer could vaporize him with a snap of his fingers. He only cared that this monster’s eyes not be on his brother for another second.

“Shut up,” Dean growled, his nose inches from Lucifer’s. They were the same height. Cas appeared at his shoulder, holding an angel blade very close to Lucifer’s eye. “Don’t ever talk to him like that.”

“Dean, Dean,” Lucifer chided, making no effort to free himself. “I thought you were already taken.” His eyes slid suggestively down Castiel’s body.

“Stand back, Dean,” Cas said. “I’ll do it.”

Dean kept his forearm against Lucifer’s throat, but moved out of Cas’s way so he could stab the bastard in the chest.

“Do it, Cas,” Crowley said.

Lucifer sighed. He snapped his fingers and Dean’s arm thunked against the wall, braced on nothing. He spun around, shouting, “Where is he?”

Lucifer was in the kitchen, eyeing the dishes in the sink. He snapped, and they were clean, hovering in a neat pile in the air above the sink. Sam backed away from him as the dishes smashed down, shattering. He flinched at the noise.

“Whoops,” Lucifer said, grinning unapologetically. He turned back to the room, his eyes sharp while his mouth smiled. “I’m not here to fight.”

“Yeah, why don’t I believe that?” Dean asked.

Lucifer shrugged. “That’s not my problem. You called me here.”

“To kill you,” Cas said bluntly.

“You’re welcome to try again,” Lucifer smirked. “But in the meantime, Baby Winchester is probably doing something sinister and scary.” His tone turned mocking at the end, and he waved his hands around by his head.

“What’s your point?” Dean demanded.

“My point, you pathetically insignificant ape, is that we should be friends.” He grinned with all his teeth, his eyes shards of ice. “You can’t take down my brother, and I don’t want to bother with yours. Well, maybe the tall one.”

“We’re not going to work with you,” Dean said. “Stop looking at Sam like that.”

“Where’d you get your vessel?” Cas asked. “Nick died a long time ago.”

“Going-away present from Dad,” Lucifer sneered, tugging at his clothes. “Do you like it? It won’t break down, either. But I’d still prefer Sam. It gets lonely in here all alone.” He fake-pouted, giving Sam puppy-dog eyes.

“No,” Sam said angrily.

Lucifer sighed. “I really hate that word.”

“Really? You should be used to hearing it by now,” Sam snapped.

“We’re not gonna work with you,” Dean growled. “Ever.”

“I could bring an endless supply of cheeseburgers?” Lucifer offered. He moved his hips, adding, “Make it worth your while?”

“What,” Dean said.

“You don’t know the new me,” Lucifer said, clasping his hands as though in prayer. “I worked out my Daddy issues. Now I can help you with yours.” He shook his head. “Sorry. Insulting you is an old habit. I’m a whole new Devil now.” He spread his hands, grinning. “Think more Gabriel, less Satan, though I still like my nickname. I’m here to play nice.”

“You can’t expect us to believe that,” Sam said. “You killed Gabriel.”

For the first time, Lucifer’s arrogance faltered. His eyes slid over to Sam, the expression in them unreadable; he paused for a long time before answering. “I know,” he said finally.

“What, you feel bad?” Sam demanded. “You should.”

Lucifer seemed to pull his attitude back onto his shoulders with a casual shrug. “Whatever. Like you haven’t tried to kill your brother.”

“Screw you,” Sam said.

“You’re still the Devil,” Mary interrupted. “All our problems come when we make deals with things like you.”

“Well said,” Crowley said.

“Hi there, little doggy,” Lucifer said. “You don’t look too good.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Crowley said.

“I like a dog with some bite in it,” Lucifer smiled.

Crowley started to stand up, but Mary put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. “Lucifer,” Mary said. “What help could we give you?”

“I wish you boys took more after your Mommy,” Lucifer said. “She’s asking the important questions.”

“So answer her,” Dean snapped.

“Okay, okay. Geez. Why would I want to bother with a monkey who forgot his place? I don’t want anything to do with the Cage anymore, but that doesn’t mean Adam gets to have it. I got to know him pretty well, I like to think. He’s not worth my time.”

“You’re an archangel,” Sam said. “Just smite him and be done.”

“Nah,” Lucifer said, shrugging. “Don’t wanna.”

“Your immaturity persists, Lucifer,” Cas said, and Lucifer’s eyes snapped over to him, frozen flint sharp enough to cut skin. Cas didn’t back down.

“Baby bro thinks he’s better than me,” Lucifer mused. “Don’t you remember I’m Dad’s favorite?”

Cas’s face darkened, but before he could reply, Crowley said, “Will you just kill him already? The suspense is killing me.”

“No one’s killing anyone,” Lucifer said. “You’re gonna need me. You’re barely gonna be able to handle Adam, definitely not Michael, too.”

“We’ll take our chances—” Dean said.

Beside him, Cas flinched.

“Cas?” Dean asked, distracted. Lucifer’s eyes had gone distant. He let out a low whistle.

“Something’s wrong,” Cas said. He put a hand to his head, taking a step backward, “In Heaven.”

“I’d say,” Lucifer agreed, an impressed look on his face. In answer to Dean’s incredulous look, he said, “What? I can hear Angel Radio, too.”

“Cas, what is it?” Mary asked.

“A raid,” Cas said, his voice tense. “They’re saying someone has raided Heaven and made off with a guarded soul.”

“What?” Sam breathed.

“Not just any soul,” Lucifer chuckled. “Your Daddy.”

“John Winchester’s soul has been stolen from Heaven,” Cas said. “The angels are searching for the culprit, but it seems to have been someone who knows their way around.”

“Michael,” Lucifer said. “I bet he still has the juice to make him a new body, too.”

Dean looked at Sam; their eyes were wide and horrified.

“Want my help now?” Lucifer asked, lifting an eyebrow slyly.

“No,” Dean said automatically. “No way.”

“Yeah? And how are you gonna rescue your dad? How are you gonna beat an archangel? How are you gonna kill a demon as strong as one of my Knights? You don’t have the Mark anymore, and Castiel doesn’t have the juice to take them both. Neither does little doggie’s witch mother. You need me, just like with Amara. I’ll behave myself, I promise.”

“I doubt that,” Castiel said.

“I’ll give you time to think about it,” Lucifer said graciously. “But you know I’m right.” He snapped his fingers, and the walls split into a web of fractures beneath the sigils, plaster sprinkling the floor. “Nice try, by the way,” he said, and disappeared.


	15. Remorse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait everyone!   
> This is the home stretch. I plan to post one chapter every night until the premiere. So please stay tuned!

The chill lasted long after Lucifer departed. Mary pulled her sweater back on. Dean took to pacing the length of the cabin, fiddling with the blade in his hand. Cas stood by the window, staring out while Sam glanced repeatedly around into every corner; it made Dean’s neck hurt to watch. Crowley was bleeding on the couch.

“What are you doing?” he asked when Mary bent over him.

“Patching you up,” she said, as though it were obvious.

“I’m fine.”

“My sons say that whenever they’re _not_ fine,” Mary said. “Move your hand.”

“Ouch,” Crowley grumbled, but he stayed still.

“Maybe we should get out of here?” Sam said uncertainly. He stood up to look out the window. “He could come back.”

“Yeah, fitting five in the car’s gonna be fun,” Dean muttered.

“What’s the point in leaving?” Mary said. “Won’t he just find us wherever we go?” She directed the question at Cas, who sighed.

“Theoretically, if all of you are hidden, he shouldn’t be able to find us. But this is Lucifer. I’m willing to believe he can do almost anything.”

“Let’s not ruin another safehouse,” Dean said. “Stay here.”

“What do you mean, ‘hidden’?” Mary asked.

Cas glanced at Dean, who remembered. “The rib thing?” he asked. “Better do that quick, Cas.”

“I should have thought of it before,” Cas said, coming closer to Mary, who was still sitting beside Crowley. She had given him a gauze pad to hold over the bleeding wound in his gut, and was holding another behind his shoulder. “This might be uncomfortable.”

“Stop,” Mary said, leaning back. Her voice was hard and tight, and Cas froze, his hand a foot away from her. “Tell me what you’re going to do, Cas.” Looking at his startled eyes, she added, “Please.”

“Um,” he said, glancing at Dean, who was in turn watching them anxiously. “I’m going to inscribe warding sigils onto your ribs. They will hide you from every angel in creation, myself included.”

“Oh,” Mary said, relaxing. “Is there a way to do it so you’d still be able to find me?”

Taken aback, Cas shook his head. “No. This is all or nothing.”

“Go ahead,” Mary said. “Sorry I snapped at you. I just wanted to know before you did it.”

“I understand,” Cas said with a small smile. He placed his hand on Mary’s side, and she winced.

“Oh. Yeah, that was uncomfortable,” she muttered. Dean nodded vigorously. “You boys have them?” Mary asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Cas did them years ago.”

“When it first became relevant,” Cas said.

“And you?” Mary asked Crowley. He shook his head.

“I have other means of staying hidden,” he said. “And Cas isn’t touching this body.” He shot the angel a glare.

“Tell us more about Adam,” Dean said to Crowley. “What was he like?”

“Demonic,” Crowley snapped, shifting on the couch to hold his gauze tighter to his stomach.

Dean snorted. “Come on, Crowley.”

“That’s it, Dean. There’s nothing left of him except rage. I doubt dear John is too happy right now.”

Dean clenched his hands until the nails bit into his palms. His eyes sought out Sam, who looked conflicted, tormented.

“That was unnecessary,” Mary said. “Focus on healing, Crowley. Can you nap?”

“Not in a place that Lucifer knows about,” Crowley grumbled.

“Then sit tight,” Mary said, rising. “I need to talk to my boys.” She folded her arms and looked at the three of them. “What’s the plan?”

“Uh,” Dean said, glancing at Sam, who was biting his lip. “Save him?”

“Great plan, Dean,” Sam said.

“Well, what do you got?” Dean snapped back, and Sam glared at him.

“All of Heaven is searching for them,” Cas said. “The chances of us finding them first are very small.”

“He’s our dad,” Dean said softly. “We have to try.”

“I know,” Cas said, looking at him. “I can arrange a meeting with the search party.”

“I thought the angels were after you?” Dean said.

Cas shrugged, averting his eyes. “I have information they will want to know.”

Dean didn’t like it, but he nodded, wishing there was another way. Wishing they didn’t have to get Cas in trouble _again_ for the sake of their family.

“By the way,” Mary said into the taut silence. “Michael’s the archangel. But who’s Adam?”

[|][|][|]

Dean stood in the driveway with his arms folded both in anger and against the chill. A bizarre cold snap had hit Oklahoma, and it was his personal theory that Lucifer was doing it just to make them uncomfortable. The sun was overhead; they had decided to take a few hours to rest and heal before meeting with the angels. Cas hadn’t seemed in too much of a hurry, and all of them had a lot to process before the fighting started again. They had reached another unpleasant lull, where they could neither storm off to John’s rescue, nor find safety themselves. Dean hated the feeling of helplessness it gave him.

“They’re coming,” Cas said. The two of them were waiting in the driveway; the others had elected to stay inside.

Dean shifted, letting the angel blade in his pocket nudge against his side. They did not want this meeting to end in blood, but he would be prepared if it did.

Two angels appeared in the middle of the driveway. Their vessels were both female, their expressions grim.

“Nakir, Shamsiel,” Cas said. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hello, Brother,” said Nakir, a small smile on her face. Shamsiel stayed stony, her blade already in her hand. Dean didn’t like her.

“I heard about the theft,” Cas said, speaking to Nakir. “But—”

“Once again, you only care about Heaven when the Winchesters are involved,” Shamsiel sneered. “I did not want to come hear your news, Castiel. I wanted to come kill you.”

“Just try it,” Dean said, his hackles up immediately. He pulled out the angel blade.

“Dean,” Cas said placatingly, holding up a hand. “Shamsiel’s anger is justified.”

“Be angry at Lucifer,” Dean said, glaring into her icy blue eyes. “Or your dad. Don’t take it out on Cas.”

“We are here to negotiate,” Nakir said. “Shamsiel will hold herself in check.”

The taller angel flushed, glaring straight back at Dean. He held the look, unwilling to break contact. Nakir cleared her throat, and Shamsiel turned her head.

“Thank you, Sister,” Cas said. “It wasn’t Lucifer who raided Heaven.”

Shamsiel opened her mouth, incredulous, but Nakir spoke first. “How do you know?”

“A mutual…friend of ours has seen them,” Cas said. “It’s Michael and a demon called Adam.”

“Michael?” Nakir breathed. “Our brother?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lying,” Shamsiel said. “Michael would not deal with a demon. He was the best of us, the most powerful, the best soldier.”

“Are you done?” Dean said. “It was them. They’re out of the Cage. We need to find them, now. So whatever you’re doing, do it faster—”

Shamsiel drew herself up, offended. “We don’t take—”

“Search parties have been deployed already,” Nakir told Cas. “They’ve been searching for Lucifer for days.”

“They’re not going to find him,” Cas said. “You need to switch your focus to pursuing Michael and Adam.”

“Michael must be trying to thwart this demon,” Shamsiel said. “That’s the only explanation.”

“Listen, sister,” Dean snapped, but Cas cut across him.

“I know it’s difficult,” he said to Shamsiel. “Michael was the most powerful. But Hell changes you. Even angels suffer there.”

Shamsiel glared and ground one heel into the gravel drive as though she wished it was Cas’s head.

“What proof is there?” she asked. “You claim the perpetrator is Michael. How do you know?”

“That’s where I come in, it seems,” said a new voice. Dean closed his eyes, then opened them to glare at Lucifer, who had appeared leaning against the Impala. Cas put a restraining arm on Dean’s shoulder, but he was about a millimeter away from ripping the Devil’s throat out for touching his car.

“Lucifer,” Nakir said. She and Shamsiel both held up their blades, tense.

“No need for that,” he said snapping his fingers dismissively, and both blades fell to the ground. “Why does everyone assume I’m here for some ungodly reason?”

“Because that is all you are,” Shamsiel spat, and Dean felt gratified to see her venom directed at someone other than Cas.

“Ouch,” Lucifer said carelessly. “You want proof? It was Michael. And that piece of scum Adam.”

“You are the Deceiver,” Shamsiel said. “We can believe no evidence from you.”

“I don’t lie,” Lucifer said in a soft voice that made the hairs on Dean’s neck stand up. “I don’t need to. Ask Dean.”

The angels glanced at him. “He was with us when the raid happened,” Dean said.

“He was with you?” Nakir asked. “Castiel, are you still dealing with Lucifer?”

“No,” Cas said, glaring at him. “I’m not.”

“He should be though,” Lucifer said, sidling away from the car. “I’m the only one who can take Michael. I think you guys know that.”

“Zachariah’s plan should never have been stopped,” Shamsiel muttered.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Lucifer said cheerfully. “You’re gonna do everything you can to find them. And when you do, you’re gonna let Castiel know, and we’re gonna find them. I won’t have you messing Michael up any more.”

“We’re not working with you,” Dean snapped.

“We’re going to take you in,” Shamsiel said over him, stepping closer even though her blade was still on the ground.

Lucifer sighed. “Do I have to kill you?” he asked so casually that Shamsiel flinched.

“That’s not necessary,” Cas said quickly. “Nakir, many will die if they try to fight Michael and Adam. Let us do it.”

“Castiel, this battle is beyond even you,” Nakir said. “Michael himself—”

“He won’t be alone,” Dean said.

“I’m losing patience,” Lucifer said. “That’s my brother you’re talking about. You will do as I said. _Do I make myself clear?_ ”

The air snapped with cold and for a moment the sky was shadowed with what were unmistakably enormous wings. Thunder shook the ground and Dean felt vibrations of power singing through his whole body. Only Cas didn’t flinch.

“That was unnecessary,” he said to Lucifer.

The Devil smiled. “Are we clear?”

Nakir sent a glance at Cas. “You are okay with this, Brother?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “Though we will not be fighting alongside Lucifer.”

“Stubborn,” Satan complained.

“Then very well,” Nakir said. “We will let you know as soon as we find something.” She and Shamsiel disappeared, leaving Cas and Dean standing quietly in the driveway with Lucifer.

“Can I come in?” Lucifer asked. “It’s cold out here.”

“No,” Dean said. “Go look for Michael or something.”

Lucifer stuck out his forked tongue and vanished.

Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. “That could’ve gone worse,” he said.

“We’ll find him, Dean,” Cas said. “I promise.”

“I know,” Dean said as they started heading inside to tell the others what had happened. “That’s what family does.”

“Hail the conquering heroes,” Crowley said when Dean pushed the door open. He was mostly healed by now, though still reclining on the couch. He looked quite at home.

“Lucifer showed up?” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “He convinced the angels to look for Adam and Michael. When they find something, they’re gonna let Cas know.”

“Why would Lucifer help you?” Crowley asked.

“He wants to find Michael,” Castiel said. “Perhaps he wants to make amends.”

“I doubt that,” Sam said.

“He said he’d changed,” Mary said. “Cas might be right.”

“The Devil doesn’t change,” Dean said. “Once we find Dad and Adam, we gotta kill Lucifer. Maybe Michael, too.”

“Good luck with that,” Crowley said.

Mary fixed her gaze on Cas. “Are you okay with this?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You were determined to kill him,” Mary said.

“Killing Lucifer won’t fix this,” Cas said after a pause. “But if he helps us find John….”

“We are gonna kill him, Cas,” Sam said, clenching his fists.

[|][|][|]

That night Dean and Sam slept on the living room floor while Cas and Crowley kept watch. Mary was in the bedroom, the door propped open. No one slept well, but Sam didn’t sleep at all. It was the second night in a place Lucifer could return to at any moment. The second night he couldn’t trust his dreams not to return him to the Cage. The second sleepless night.

He sat up. Cas met his eyes, but didn’t speak as Sam made his way into the bedroom where Mary slept lightly beneath the covers. Her sleeping face was still tense; she slept like a hunter.

“Mom?” Sam whispered, and her eyes opened immediately. She sat up, pushing the covers back and producing a knife from somewhere he didn’t see.

“Sammy?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Sam felt his face heating up and regretted coming in here. Even in the dark, Mary’s eyes were bright and fixed on him.

“Come here,” Mary said. “Shut the door.”

Sam did so, closing it as quietly as he could so as not to wake Dean. Cas and Crowley were both ignoring them now. Sam took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” Mary asked. She patted the bed beside her until he scooted up and sat against the headboard next to her, touching in a casual, comforting way that Sam had very little experience with. He shook his head.

“I’m not surprised,” Mary said. “We’re not safe here.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say ‘it’ll be fine’?” he asked, failing to turn it into the joke he’d intended to make. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet, so he couldn’t see her face.

“Would that help?” Mary asked. “I didn’t want to lie.”

Sam chuckled darkly. “Thanks.”

“We’ll protect you,” Mary said. “You’ve got Dean and Cas, and me now. You’ll be okay, Sammy.” Her arm curled around his broad shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I know,” Sam whispered. “But it’s still…Lucifer….”

“Certainly bigger than any of the monsters I grew up fighting,” Mary said. “But still a monster. Still no match for our family.”

Sam smiled at the word. “I’m glad you’re back.”

She snorted in the dark. “I should hope so. I noticed you don’t sit like this with your brother.”

Blinking, Sam laughed for real now, though he kept the sound soft. “That’d be weird.”

She patted his shoulder and said matter-of-factly, “If you’d grown up with anyone other than John, physical affection wouldn’t be such a terrible thing to you.”

“It’s not,” Sam protested. “Just, me and Dean don’t….”

“I wasn’t criticizing,” Mary said quickly. “Your father and I disagreed on a lot of things.”

“Are you—” He stopped, afraid to ask the difficult question. “Do you want—”

“To rescue your father?” she guessed. Her shoulders shrugged against his. “I don’t want him tortured by demons.”

Sam laughed. “Do you want him tortured at all?”

“I might punch him,” she said thoughtfully.

Sam swallowed his joke. “Oh.”

“But we’re going to rescue him,” Mary said.

“Yeah.”

They sat quietly for several minutes, their breathing soft and soothing in the dark. Her hand brushed through his hair.

“Mom?” Sam whispered to the darkness. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” she answered. “That’s okay.”

He shook his head, hiding his face in his hands even though she couldn’t see him.

“Do you want to sit this one out?” she asked. The question surprised him so much that he pulled away from her, turning and trying to make out her face in the dark. He had never been willingly offered that choice before.

“We’d understand,” Mary said. “No one would blame you.”

Sam looked away, to the door behind which Dean slept. “No,” he said slowly. “No. I’ve got to find Dad.”

“So you’re gonna fight.”

He hesitated.

“Yeah.”

There was a smile in her voice when she spoke next. “You’re gonna be fine.”

[|][|][|]

Dean’s phone rang while they were packing up. The number was blocked. He frowned, motioned for the others to be quiet, and thumbed over the phone, putting it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“What a surprise,” said the voice on the other end. It was a male voice, cocky with an audible smile. “The right number. Thank our guest, Michael.”

Something thudded in the background, and someone grunted in pain. Dean’s eyes were wide; his heart pounded and his fingers went cold. Sam leapt for his computer, motioning Dean to keep them talking.

“Hey, Dean,” Adam said. “Say hi to Daddy.”

“Adam,” Dean growled. “Let him go.”

“Damn,” he said. “I thought your first words would be ‘I’m gonna kill you.’”

“Dad?” Dean said. “We’re gonna find you. Don’t worry.”

“He’s a little tied up right now,” Adam said. “Leave a message.”

“We are going to find you,” Sam said, his voice low and dark even as his fingers flashed across his keyboard. “Adam. Stop this now.”

“Is that Sam?” Adam said. “Wow, a family call. How nice.”

Mary raised her eyebrow, but stayed quiet.

“I miss you, Sam,” Adam sneered. “Your screams were so comforting.”

“What do you want?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Adam said easily.

“Then why’d you call?”

“Just fact-checking. John didn’t want to talk to me, so I asked him a nice, easy question: your number. I guess he decided to help me out.”

There was another thud, and John gave a muffled groan.

“Dad!” Dean called.

“Give him back,” Sam threatened. “Or we’ll—”

“Don’t bother threatening me, Sam,” Adam said disdainfully. “It’s useless.”

“We’ll see,” Sam promised him.

Adam laughed; there was crackling in the line and then labored breathing. “John wants to say something to you.”

There was a pause, and then John’s pain-roughened voice came through the phone. “Don’t you dare come after me,” he spat. “Dean, Sam. That’s an order—” His voice cut off into a sharp gasp.

“That’s no fun,” Adam said. “If they don’t come, how will I kill them? They’re so good at hiding. And running.” John cried out, the sound muffled by his clenched teeth. Dean had made that sound enough to know.

“Tell us where you are,” Dean said, his mouth dry. Sam’s computer was still searching, zooming in on nowhere-Wyoming.

“Nah,” Adam said. “I want some more personal time with my dad. But don’t worry. We went to a lot of trouble dragging him out of Heaven. We won’t send him back anytime soon. Though how he ended up there—” another thud “—I’ll never understand. Angels, right?”

Sam’s eyes sharpened; he looked up at Dean, gesturing silently at his computer. The map had stopped on a section of Wyoming’s southern border.

“Dad, just hang on,” Dean said.

“He can’t do much else,” Adam said, and John groaned. “Oh, sorry, John. Is that one broken?”

“We’re gonna kill you,” Dean growled.

“Knew you’d say it eventually,” Adam said. “Anyway, I’m gonna get back to hanging out with Dad.”

“Wait!” Dean shouted, but Adam had already hung up. He slammed his finger onto the phone. “Tell me you got their location.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Savery, Wyoming.”

“Let’s go,” Dean said.

“What’s the plan?” Cas asked.

“It’s a ten hour drive,” Dean said. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You coming?” Mary asked Crowley.

“Fun as that’d be,” Crowley said. “I’ll pass.”

“We’ll let you know how it goes,” Dean said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Crowley nodded once and disappeared.

“Makes fitting into the car easier,” Cas pointed out.

They grabbed the last of their things and returned to the Impala. Dean rubbed a hand over her, brushing the spot Lucifer had leaned against. Jaw clenched, he threw himself into the driver’s seat and glared at the road that would take them to Wyoming.


	16. Say Yes To Me

_“You’re making Michael sad, Dad,” Adam whispered, cupping John’s bruised cheek. “Just tell him ‘yes.’”_

_“Go to hell,” John bit out, his bloodshot eyes unfocused, but still glaring._

_“Maybe someday,” Adam replied. “But right now Earth is much more interesting.”_

_They were in an old, rundown barn. Adam had slaughtered the animals when they’d arrived, and their blood soaked into the wood shavings of their stalls. Their bodies were beginning to go rancid in the heat. The sole farmer who had owned this property lay dead outside, his body forgotten by the water pump._

_John stood in the center of the barn. His arms were pulled out to either side, bound in ropes that had once been used to guide the animals. His toes barely touched the ground. He was covered in sweat and blood, his breathing shallow from the broken ribs Adam loved to toy with._

_Michael sat on a bale of hay at the entrance to the barn. A dead dog lay next to him; he was contemplating its bloody fur with blank eyes._

_“I’d heard rumors,” Adam mused, moving to stand behind John. “Of a soul that survived on the rack one hundred years without breaking. I like a challenge.” He put his hands on John’s taut shoulders, kneading them as he pressed down. John groaned, struggling for breath. “You’ve had so much time in Heaven, I think. Maybe you don’t remember pain.”_

_“No,” John said, his voice strained._

_“I’ll remind you,” Adam offered softly, as though he was being generous. “Michael, come here.”_

_The archangel stood up, stepping over the dog’s corpse as he approached. His vessel was John’s younger self, face gentle and without the lines Mary’s death had brought to it. Adam had made it for him._

_Adam pushed on John’s shoulders until his heels touched the ground. He cried out as his shoulder separated from its socket, his whole body jerking with the pain. Adam released him as Michael put two fingers against his forehead. John’s eyes went blank. Though blood still dripped down his newly reformed body, the pain in his face cleared._

_“Mary?” he asked the silent barn. A smile touched his swollen mouth._

_He looked up toward the barn’s hay loft. His face paled. His hands clenched at the ropes and agony returned to his eyes. “Mary!” he shouted. “No! Mary!”_

_He jerked and gasped, and Michael pulled his fingers away. John blinked, his eyes clearing. He blinked the tears away._

_“That was fun,” Adam said over his labored breathing. “What else can you do?”_

_John tried to lean away as Michael raised his hands again._

[|][|][|]

They walked the last half mile in the dark. It was almost nine hours since they’d left Oklahoma. Dean had managed to shave an entire hour off the drive. He’d pulled the car off the road, hiding her behind a small rise of rocky earth. They didn’t want to risk Michael or Adam’s inhuman senses detecting the car’s engine. They’d armed themselves to the teeth and set off, heading for the location to which Sam had traced Adam’s call. If Dad wasn’t here, Dean thought he’d…. Well, to be honest, he wasn’t sure how he’d feel.

Sam, Cas, Mary—they were his perfect family. They could make this work. He knew they could. Mary would love them all and Dean had never felt safer than with his mother in the car behind him. He didn’t know where Dad would fit into this strange tapestry they were weaving. He doubted Dad would be too happy about Cas hanging around, and even less happy about Crowley. Somehow he doubted Dad would get along with Jody or the others, either. Especially Claire. God, he would probably hate Claire. Dean wished Bobby were here. Bobby could make sense out of anything. John Winchester probably wouldn’t even try.

If another person joined their ragtag family, Dean wanted it to be a parent, not a drill sergeant. But he hoped they could save Dad.

They climbed another bluff and peered over the top, lying on their stomachs to stay hidden. In the darkness, Dean could see the outline of an ancient barn. Its paint was peeling, the roof sagged, and it looked like it should have been laid to rest a hundred years ago. Instead, dim light shone through its cobwebbed windows.

They divided up roles. They knew they would soon be facing at least a demon and an archangel. But there could be additional demons or angels, flocking to the power of their lost brother. So Sam and Cas would charge the front, a direct assault that would hopefully snare their attention long enough for Dean and Mary to sneak in the back.

“Give us ten minutes,” Dean said. “Then go.”

Sam nodded, and Cas tried to conceal the worry in his eyes.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to defeat Adam if we aren’t fighting to kill,” he said.

“It’s gonna be tough,” Dean said.

“He deserves to be saved,” Sam said. “It’s not his fault he was in the Cage.” _It’s mine_ , he didn’t say, but Dean heard it anyway.

“We’re gonna do what we can,” he said, and Sam nodded. “Dad’s the priority, then Adam, then Michael.”

“Hopefully we have the advantage of numbers,” Mary said. “Watch out for each other.”

“You too,” Sam answered.

[|][|][|]

They waited for ten minutes, then picked their way down the small hill. Hardly anyone used this road, especially so late at night. Sam wondered if anyone owned this farm, and if so, where they were. His question was answered when they crept closer to the barn’s door and found not a waiting archangel, but a dead farmer lying in the dirt. Sam clenched his teeth and focused on the rot-streaked wood door.

Cas put a hand on his shoulder. Sam looked around, and the angel stepped in front of him. He raised a hand.

The double doors ripped free of their rusty hinges. They crashed to the ground at Cas’ feet. A flood of hot, rank air swarmed past them. Sam smelled death and swallowed down bile, tightening his grip on his angel blade.

Adam and Michael were standing in the middle of the barn. John was tied to the ceiling, his arms outstretched. His eyes were blank, his body covered in blood. Adam stood behind him, Michael in front with two fingers pressed to John’s forehead.

When the doors flew open, Michael turned. Life came back into John’s eyes and he blinked slowly, gasping for breath. Adam stepped around him and spread his arms in a gesture of welcome.

“Sam,” he said cheerfully. “And Castiel. I haven’t seen you since you left me to rot.”

“Adam,” Cas said in a soft voice.

“Sam, go!” John barked. “They’re powerful! Get out of here!”

Adam casually punched him in the stomach, and Sam heard the air rush out of his father’s body.

He stepped forward, almost inside the barn, the blade at his side. “Adam, I’m sorry,” he said. “I am so sorry you ended up there. That we couldn’t save you.”

“That’s nice of you,” Adam said, eyes flicking to Sam’s face. “I’m still going to rip your guts out.”

“This is your only chance for redemption,” Cas said. “Surrender and we can return you to what you were. We can restore your soul.”

Adam laughed so hard dust fell from the hayloft. He laughed until he had to grab onto John’s side to keep himself standing. John grunted in pain, and Adam wiped his eyes.

“And I thought Michael was naïve,” he said, still smiling. “You think there’s any coming back from a thousand years in the Cage?”

“It’s gonna be hard,” Sam said. “God, I know. But we can help you. We can cure you, Adam. Let us help.”

Adam kept the shining smile, but his eyes turned demon black. “I think I’ll stay like this, thanks.” He turned back to John, tracing a knife down the length of his outstretched arm. John gritted his teeth as a line of blood filled the cut. “Michael, I want them alive.”

The archangel came to the doorway, an angel blade now in his hand. Adam toyed with the knife across John’s chest, watching Michael approach.

“Brother—” Cas began, but Michael didn’t even pause.

He raised the blade above his head and swung down toward Cas’ shoulder. Cas met him blade on blade, blocking over his head and using the full strength of his body. Sam dodged around Cas, jabbing with his own blade at Michael’s side. Face blank, the archangel sidestepped and backhanded Sam in the chest with his free hand. Sam’s feet lifted off the ground and his breath left him from the force. He crashed shoulder-first against the ground, the world spinning as the angel blade skittered away from him.

“Sam!” Cas cried.

Michael shoved against their crossed blades, forcing Cas to take a step backward to maintain his balance. He dropped his sword arm, letting Michael’s blade swing closer to his chest so he could grab his wrist. Cas pulled their arms to the side, twisting hard enough to make Michael drop his blade. It clattered against the packed dirt driveway, and Cas kicked it away.

Empty-handed, Michael reached out, grabbing the front of Cas’ trenchcoat. He yanked him against his chest so that Cas’ blade was pinned between them, the tip pointing skyward. Michael seized the back of Cas’ head, trying to push his face down into the tip of his own blade.

“Cas!” Sam gasped from the ground, struggling to stop the world from tipping. He spat out blood.

Cas released Michael’s arm and swung his fist into his jaw. They were too close together for him to get any real force into the blow, but it distracted Michael enough that he let go of Cas’ head.

Gunshots sounded inside the barn. Sam made it back to his feet as Cas pulled back just enough to free his arm. He stabbed up toward Michael’s chin, but the archangel pushed him away before the blow could land. Cas stepped back, his eyes fight-wild and his body tense. Sam cast around for his dropped blade, but it was too far away and Michael was looking for his, too. They couldn’t let him get it back.

So Sam charged forward, tripping over feet that felt too heavy. He used their two inch height difference and a running start to tackle Michael full force. He must have caught him by surprise, because it worked. Michael fell backward, Sam on top of him, and they crashed against the ground. For the second time, Sam’s body jarred painfully, but he kept his hands firm on Michael’s shirt. A blast came from inside the barn and he looked up, trying to see if Dean and Mary and John were okay, but his view was blocked by the barn’s rotting wall.

Cas made it to his side, blade stabbing down. It pierced Michael’s shoulder, going all the way through and into the ground below. The edges of the wound glowed with Grace: not a killing stroke, but Cas hadn’t been trying for one.

Michael screamed, his back arching beneath Sam. He was thrown back once more as the world turned white.

[|][|][|]

Dean and Mary made their move when the barn’s doors crashed down. Dean felt a kind of vindictive pleasure at the evidence of Cas’ strength.

The barn had a small back door leading into an office. This was where they crept inside. The door’s hinges squeaked as Dean eased it open, but he could hear Adam talking in the barn, so he hoped the demon hadn’t noticed it. They snuck through the dusty office and peered into the barn proper. They were at the farthest end, behind Adam and John. Dean watched as Michael left the barn to fight Sam and Cas, who had remained outside to draw him away. Adam left John’s side, going closer to the doorway to watch the fight. Exchanging a look with Mary, Dean pushed open the office door.

They rushed silently to John’s side. Mary stood in front of him and pointed her shotgun at Adam’s back. It wouldn’t do more than knock the wind out of him, but if he turned around, they needed to buy as much time as possible. Dean reached up to the ropes around John’s right wrist, taking hold and starting to saw at them with his knife. John jerked, trying to get away, but held fast.

“No,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Dad, it’s me,” Dean hissed back, meeting his eyes. “We’re saving you.”

John’s eyes focused dully on his face. “Dean?” he asked.

“Hey, Dad,” Dean said. He made it through the first roped and caught John as he sagged, his dislocated arm falling uselessly to his side.

John looked forward, his eyes widening as he saw Mary standing protectively in front of them. “Mary?” he whispered. Then he shut his eyes, his body stiffening. “Damn you, you bastard.”

He seemed to be standing on his own, so Dean moved around him and started working at the ropes on his other side.

“Stop playing games and just kill me,” John snapped as the rope broke.

Dean froze, catching him as he staggered. He shot a desperate look toward the front of the barn.

Adam turned, his black eyes curious. For a moment, he smiled indulgently. Then Mary shot him in the chest.

“Dean, go,” she shouted as Adam stumbled backwards. He backed up, John’s arm around his shoulders.

“Get off me,” John said, fighting to pull himself free. He almost knocked Dean off balance.

“Dad, it’s not a trick,” Dean said, trying to make it back to the office. “It’s me.”

“You’ve played this game a hundred times,” John growled. “Get. Off.” He shoved at Dean, who let go, tripping slightly. Behind them, Adam was speaking.

“You’re their mother,” he said uncertainly. “How are you alive? The irony—” He was cut off by another gunshot.

John kept his feet despite the wounds decorating his body. He put a hand against the wall and glared at Dean. “Stop the game,” he said. “I can see through it.”

“No, Dad, this is real,” Dean said, coming closer. John lunged at him, swinging his good arm at Dean’s stomach. Dean caught it, surprised by the strength of the blow.

Mary fired the gun a third time and Dean looked around. Adam was right in front of her, doubled over from the new round of salt pellets embedded in his chest. Mary slammed the butt of her gun against the back of his neck.

Adam fell forward, his face hitting the dirt floor of the barn with a hollow thud. Mary kicked out, aiming for his face, but Adam smacked his hand against the ground. A percussive force snapped outward, catching Mary full blast and throwing her against the back door of the barn. She dropped to her hands and knees, coughing.

“Mom!” Dean gasped. He left John, running to her side. “Are you—”

“Dean,” Adam said pleasantly. He picked himself off the ground, his face smeared with dirt and blood. Dean stepped in front of Mary. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough,” Dean snapped. He turned Ruby’s knife over in his hand, stalking toward Adam. The demon smiled.

Blinding light exploded through the barn. Dimly, Dean heard Michael screaming, but the piercing rush of Grace-light drowned out all his senses. He was thrown backward, crashing into the wall next to Mary, but the unstable energy didn’t let him fall. He was being crushed against the wood, the air gone from his body, unable to move or yell.

The wood cracked behind him and he slammed hard into the ground. Debris crashed over him and for several moments all he could do was lay face down, his arms tight over his head, trying desperately to get some air into his lungs.

“Michael, stop!” Adam’s voice carried over the rushing wind and crashing wood.

The explosion ended as quickly as it had begun.

Dean lifted his head, trying to see through the suddenly dusty air. The lights in the barn had gone out. In fact, the entire barn was now barely standing. It looked like it had been hit by a tornado; the walls and roof had blown outward. All that remained were a few posts of old wood and scattered bloodstains in the dirt. The majority of the debris had been carried farther away than Dean, who was just thankful he wasn’t pinned beneath them.

Mary lay on her side a few feet from Dean, her blond hair soaked in blood. John was flat on his back where the office used to be. Further past him, Adam stood over Michael, who was also on the ground, convulsing. Sam and Cas were prone and motionless past them.

When Dean tried to stand up, he found out why his abdomen felt strangely numb. A blood-soaked piece of wood jutted from his side; he could feel splinters breaking off as he tried to make it to his hands and knees. He coughed blood and sagged back to the ground, lying on his side so that the wood didn’t get pushed in any deeper. His head spun.

“Stop whining,” Adam snapped. From where he lay, Dean watched Adam crouch beside the wounded archangel. He seized the blade sticking out of his shoulder and pulled. Michael cried out and then went still, panting.

“You couldn’t even kill two of them?” Adam asked, standing up again. He sneered down at Michael, who blinked slowly as the wound healed. “Useless. And you wondered why Daddy sent you to the Cage.”

“Don’t you ever talk to my brother like that,” Lucifer said. He had appeared where the middle of the barn had been just a minute before. His hands were curled into fists and he had fury on his face. Dean didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Just what they needed, Lucifer showing up when they were already almost beaten.

“Lucifer,” Adam said, and for the first time he seemed tense. He cast his hand out, and Michael’s angel blade flew to it from the darkness.

“Do not speak to me,” Lucifer said, and Adam fell silent. The Devil took a step forward. His eyes went soft with worry, looking at his brother. “Michael?”

Still on the ground, Michael turned his head. His fearful gaze took in Lucifer, standing with his arms outstretched. Slowly, he rose to his feet.

“Michael?” Lucifer repeated.

“If you’re waiting for a response, you won’t get one,” Adam said. Lucifer sent him a truly frightening glare, but if the demon was afraid, he didn’t show it.

Lucifer stepped forward cautiously, like Michael was a wild animal he didn’t want to spook. He had eyes only for his brother. “Michael, why are you hanging around with this filth?” he asked. “We’re free now.”

Michael glanced at Adam, and then matched Lucifer’s approach, walking forward until the two archangels were standing only a few feet apart. His face was blank again.

“He’s not free,” Adam spat. “Why would he want to be free?”

“Michael?” Lucifer said softly.

“He was always the perfect son,” Adam taunted. “He did everything right. He was even willing to kill you. You. Just because Daddy said so. And then what happened? He did everything God wanted, and he still ended up screwed over. In the Cage, where only the worst are sent. Where you were sent.” Adam paused, watching the them. Neither had moved, but both were listening.

“The worst traitor of them all,” Adam said with relish. “The worst son. So what did that make him? What had he done to deserve the same punishment as you? Maybe God wasn’t so just after all. Maybe his entire life had been for nothing.”

Michael made a soft sound and looked down. Lucifer reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, angels just weren’t meant for that kind of deep thinking,” Adam continued. “He stewed in the Cage while you were having your fun with me and Sam. Those were the worst years of his life, which is saying something, since he’s never actually been happy. But then you left. You left, and I rose up. I’m the one who put him back together. He needed someone to follow. And I was going places.”

“Dad’s gone,” Lucifer said. “We don’t need him, Michael. Come with me.”

“He doesn’t need anyone but me now,” Adam said. “Michael, kill him.”

Michael’s hand shot up and closed around Lucifer’s throat. The Devil opened his mouth as if to speak, but Michael shook him hard enough that his feet left the ground, and he choked off.

Adam pressed Michael’s blade into his hand. He took it with callous fingers and thrust toward Lucifer’s stomach.

Lucifer snapped his fingers. He was gone from Michael’s grip. Adam flinched, whirling around to find him, but Lucifer wasn’t attacking. He stood between Sam and Cas and snapped again. All three of them vanished and reappeared beside Dean.

“Stop him!” Adam yelled, and Michael teleported next to John, his teeth bared and his blade raised. Lucifer hesitated for a moment and then snapped one last time.

Dean gasped as he slammed into hard wood floor. He was no longer on his side and the piece of debris in his gut jarred deeper. He coughed, groaning as he tried to figure out what was going on.

They were back in Bobby’s cabin. Mary was unconscious beside him, Sam and Cas sprawled a few feet away. Lucifer stood in the middle of the room, his head hanging.

“Why?” Dean gasped out. He clenched his fist against the floor, knowing they were entirely helpless and wishing Cas would wake up.

Lucifer looked up, and Dean was astonished at the pain in his eyes. He had never expected to see that look on the face of the Devil himself.

Cas sat up, looking around wide-eyed. He saw Lucifer standing above them and jumped up, swaying slightly.

“Relax,” Lucifer said, turning to him with his cocky sneer back in place. “I saved you all.”

Cas glanced at them; at Dean lying bloody on the floor, at Mary motionless beside him, and then at Sam, who was beginning to stir, coughing.

“Why?” Cas asked.

“You should marry that one,” Lucifer said to Dean, jerking his finger at Cas. “You’re so alike.”

Dean was starting to shiver. He really hated bleeding out. This bone-deep cold was his least favorite way to die.

“Dean!” Cas said. With a tentative look at Lucifer, he crossed the room and knelt beside Dean. Two fingers touched Dean’s forehead and suddenly his stomach was in one piece, the bloody piece of wood clunking against the floor. He looked down to where the wound had been, touching his wet shirt.

“Thanks,” he said. He took the angel’s offered hand and they stood up. Sam was rising to an unsteady sitting position.

“What happened?” he asked.

Cas healed Mary and Sam, who got to their feet with identical expressions of confusion.

“Where’s Dad?” Sam asked.

“Still with Adam,” Dean bit out. The entire ordeal had been for nothing. He glared at Lucifer. “Why didn’t you grab him, too?”

“Because that would have meant killing my brother,” Lucifer snapped. Dean blinked, taken aback.

“Why did you save us?” Sam asked. His expression was puzzled; for the first time, he was staring at Lucifer as though he’d forgotten his fear.

The Devil shrugged. “I want to team up.”

They exchanged looks. Only yesterday, they would have refused immediately.

“You’re willing to work with us to save your brother?” Mary asked. Her eyes were sharp on Lucifer’s face, her head tilted slightly.

“Yes,” he answered.

Mary met Dean’s eyes. “It might be our only chance.”

He nodded. He knew. Adam and Michael would kill them on their own. But teaming up with Lucifer….

“Alright,” Sam said. Everyone looked at him, and he was nodding. “But only for this.”

“I wouldn’t want to stay around a second longer than necessary,” Lucifer said, with a hint of his usual mockery.

Dean humphed, turning to go wash his hands. They were still covered in his own blood. He stopped suddenly. “Where’s my car?”

Lucifer blinked, and Dean whirled around on him.

“Did you leave my car in Wyoming?” he demanded.

Lucifer casually snapped his fingers. “No,” he said, looking straight into Dean’s eyes. Dean looked out the window and saw the Impala now sitting serenely in the driveway.

“That better not have hurt her at all,” he grumbled.

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice,” Lucifer shot back.

“Whatever,” Dean said, heading for the bathroom.

“Boys,” Mary sighed.

“Don’t ‘boys’ me,” the Devil said incredulously.

“Then don’t act like one,” she answered.

Lucifer stood staring at her for a moment and everyone held their breath. But then he grinned.

“So that’s what it’s like to have a mother.”


	17. For My Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next installment of my mad race to finish before the premiere. It's very likely I will post another chapter tonight.  
> Because these updates are coming so quickly, they are unbetaed. All mistakes and bad lines are my own. I'll come back and fix everything once my amazing [Beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecadenceandthecacophony) has a chance to look them over.

The cabin was much too full for the five of them, especially with tensions so high. Thankfully there were only two rooms, so no one was ever alone with Lucifer. Dean made sure that whenever Lucifer was near Sam, so was he.

They decided to make the cabin their center of operations instead of going back to the bunker. Despite their tenuous truce, no one was willing to endanger their friends by bringing Lucifer home. Dean talked to Jody on the phone after the sun came up, telling her everything that had happened in Wyoming. She conveyed the situation to the others, and in the end they all decided to stay in the bunker a bit longer. Bess was still recovering, and even though it meant missing work, Jody wasn’t willing to risk her girls’ safety by leaving the bunker. The others echoed this resolution.

As relieved as this made Dean, he also knew that they had to wrap this up quickly. Yes, they were safe, but he didn’t want them to feel trapped in the bunker, separated from their lives. He wanted the bunker to be a home, not a prison.

But Adam and Michael had vanished. The angels were still looking for them, but Nakir reported to Cas that the barn had been abandoned before their search team reached it. The two had taken John and left the barn in shambles. Lucifer was searching for Michael himself, but unless Michael went nuts again like he had at the barn, and let loose his full archangelic power, Lucifer wouldn’t be able to find him. He seemed just as frustrated at this as they were, and was likely to snap at anyone who moved too loudly in the tiny cabin.

So Dean was glad when he got wind of demonic omens in Nebraska. They were all over the news; sudden lightning storms and a rash of untimely deaths.

“You want to go hunt demons?” Lucifer demanded as Dean showed Sam the news article. “You have one job right now.”

“No, you have one job,” Dean said. “We’re waiting on you.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, but before he could reply, Sam said, “How many demons do you think that is?”

Dean shrugged. “That many storms? A lot.”

“How’d they get there?”

Cas looked over Dean’s other shoulder. “Probably the same way Michael and Adam got back to Earth.”

“You’re saying they left the door open?” Dean asked. “Great.”

“We have to close it,” Cas said. “Before any more come through.”

“He’s right,” Mary added. “What’s a few demons after what we just fought?”

So they piled in the car. Lucifer decided not to join them. He said he’d stay at the cabin and wash the dishes, which Dean understood to mean there would be no cabin left when they returned. Shame, he liked that old house, with its comfy couch and old-book smell.

Dean and Sam split the drive northward and made it in less than a day. By the time they arrived, it was too late to question anyone, so they checked into a motel. Sam and Cas shared one room while Dean and Mary took the other. Mary had suggested they rotate who was in her room, because she could sense the tension around the issue and didn’t want anyone to be left out.

Before they went to sleep, everyone hung out together. Mary sat at the motel’s tiny table, hunched over Sam’s computer. She was still researching the modern world, determined to catch up on things as quickly as possible. Sam was reading a book on Mary’s bed while Dean and Cas watched a truly terrible soap opera on tv. Dean leaned against the headboard while Cas sat on the end of the bed, their attention completely focused.

Finally, the show ended and Dean stretched his arms.

“Better turn in,” Mary sighed, shutting the computer and standing up. They nodded and she kissed Sam and Cas goodnight before they departed for their room. She kissed Dean as well before getting into the bed closer to the door. Dean turned the light off and crawled under his covers in the dark.

“Good night, Mom.”

“Good night, Dean. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

[|][|][|]

Sam’s phone rang during an interview the next day. He excused himself to take it, and stepped outside the witness’s modern, two-story house.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Sam!” The voice on the other end sounded close to panic. He didn’t recognize it. “I need your help!”

“Who is this?” he asked, but she kept talking, gasping frantically and almost in tears.

“He’s not dead. I didn’t know. And now Trevor. You have to help me. You were right. Dean was right. Sam, please.”

“Toni?” he asked, struggling to keep up. “Take it easy. It’s gonna be okay. Slow down and tell me what happened.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped, startling him. “Sorry.” He heard her take several slow breaths. “I apologize,” she said in a voice of forced calm.

“It’s okay,” he said, leaning against the railing. “What’s wrong?”

“Cannon didn’t die properly,” she said, her voice bitter. “He became one of the Final Initiates. He’s taken Trevor.”

Sam shut his eyes, pinching his nose. He’d hoped they were done with the British Men of Letters and their insane attempt to cheat death.

“So what do you need me for?” he asked, trying to remind himself that Toni had shot and kidnapped him.

“I need your help,” Toni said. “I wouldn’t be coming to you if I had any other options. Please, Sam.”

“How old is Trevor?”

“Ten.”

Sam rubbed his hand over his forehead. “Let me call you back.”

“I’ll pay for your plane ticket,” Toni offered desperately. “I just need him back. It’s not a trick, I promise!”

“We’ll help you,” Sam promised. “Don’t worry.”

After they finished with the witness, Sam told the others about the call.

“And we know it’s not a trap how?” Dean asked. He remembered the crypt full of ghosts and Sam’s agony too clearly to forgive Toni so soon.

“She sounded desperate,” Sam said. “And she wouldn’t call me for any other reason. Her boss is dead.”

“We parted on good terms,” Mary said. “If her son is in trouble, I’m inclined to go help her.”

“I’m not,” Dean said grumpily. “What if she kidnaps us again?”

“She won’t,” Sam said. “She’s in trouble, Dean. She really needs us.”

“Still,” Cas interjected, shooting a glance at Dean. “In case this is a trap, maybe we shouldn’t all go at once.”

Dean nodded. “And we can’t ditch this case. The demons are here.”

“So we split up?” Mary asked.

“I guess,” Sam said. Dean frowned, but he didn’t see another option.

“Keep in touch,” he said grimly.

[|][|][|]

Sam and Mary caught an evening flight to Chicago, then London. True to her offer, Toni paid for their tickets in first class. It was fancier than Sam ever would have wanted for himself. The quiet, spacious cabin made him think of the rooms they had locked him in back on Holy Island.

Toni’s driver met them at the airport and whisked them into a limo. He introduced himself as James and was a perfect gentleman, despite the fact that last time Sam had seen the well-dressed black man, he had been complicit in his kidnapping. They reached Toni’s house about forty-five minutes later, and all the doubts Sam might have had about this situation flew out the window.

Toni’s hair was a mess from all the times she’d run her hands through it. Though she wore her posh pantsuit, it looked unkempt, as if she hadn’t changed in a couple of days. Her face was worn and exhausted, but her eyes burned with a desperation Sam had only seen when he or Dean were frantically searching for each other or Cas.

He swallowed. “How can we help?”

Toni led them into her secret basement. Sam was amused to see an entire wall dedicated to him and Dean: arrest records, wanted posters. Even the fake birth certificate he’d given Stanford was pinned up beside that terrible old police sketch of Dean.

“I haven’t had a chance to take that all down yet,” Toni explained, waving a hand absently at the wall. “I haven’t really been down here since….”

“Tell us what happened, please,” Mary said softly.

Toni nodded, sitting in her desk chair and gesturing for them to have a seat as well.

“The manor burned down,” she began. “It was beyond saving once the fire brigade got there. You saw to that.” She tipped her head at Mary, who smiled darkly. “Afterwards, I came home. To Trevor. The others are organizing, but I want none of it. Cannon is dead.”

“He was all that was tying you to them?” Sam asked.

“He tied all of us there. Forcefully. Which makes this even more ironic.”

“The Final Initiates,” Mary said, and Toni nodded.

“The program was designed so that the Initiates could have free travel between all our locations,” she explained. “That way the living needed to travel less to consult them. All sanctioned houses are connected.”

“But the manor burned,” Sam said. “All the sigils are gone. They should be free to move on. To Heaven, or wherever.”

“Most of them did,” Toni said. “Their deaths were natural, and once the binding was lifted, they disappeared. But not Cannon.” Her expression darkened. “He wants revenge on me for betraying the Men of Letters and letting you escape. He’s using the spell to stay.”

“And he can get into your house,” Sam realized.

She nodded. “I didn’t realize any of them were left. I didn’t know he’d stick around. So we’re still connected to the network. He came to the house last night. I found Trevor’s bed empty this morning.”

“I’m sorry,” Mary said. Her face was stricken with sympathy.

“So I called you,” Toni said. “This sort of thing is your specialty.”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “We’ll find him. What can you tell us about the other locations he might have taken Trevor?”

“They’re all over the country,” Toni said, running her hand through her hair. “And Cannon can move them instantly. We’ll never find him by looking.”

“A summoning, then,” Mary said. “What spell ingredients do you have here?”

Toni stared at her as if this was a silly question. “All of them.”

“Wait,” Sam said. “He might not bring Trevor if we just summon him.” Mary frowned. “And he probably wouldn’t tell us where he stashed him.”

“So what are we going to do?” Toni demanded, standing up. She messed up her hair again as she began to pace the length of the office.

“Take it easy,” Sam said, but wilted under her responding glare. “I mean, we’ll figure it out.”

“What will he do to Trevor in the meantime?” Mary asked, sounding as though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

Toni covered her face with her hands. “The Final Initiates are troves of all our knowledge,” she said hollowly. “He’ll pass it on. Forcefully. And then he’ll Initiate Trevor, too.”

[|][|][|]

Tracking down demons was boring work. So far, they had exorcised one, killed two, and accidentally traumatized a parish garbage man who turned out not to be possessed, but simply acting that way to attract new congregants on the priest’s orders (a porno gone wrong if ever Dean saw one). The hard part was that these demons were not organized or collaborating. They were all over the city, in numbers Dean and Cas could only guess at, and none wanted to be found.

The first demon they found spilled the beans on the gate’s location. Dean hadn’t really had to do anything; the demon just knew their reputation. Turned out they were coming through the same dilapidated building Sam, Dean, and Cas had gone through to get to the Cage months before. They had closed it behind them back then, but when Adam and Michael had broken through, they’d left the seal gaping.

Dean and Cas went to the old warehouse, but there was no way to close the gate with the resources they had. Neither knew a spell to repair a damaged Hell gate. While they were there, a demon slipped through, and Cas flung it back with a blaze of Grace. But he had no power over the gates themselves.

“Maybe Crowley can do it,” Dean suggested. But the King didn’t answer his phone.

In the end, they spray-painted devil’s traps all over the warehouse and called it good enough for now.

“Better check that pretty often,” Dean chuckled as they headed back to the car. “Wonder how many demons it can hold.”

After blocking up the gate, they went to interview the two witnesses they hadn’t made it to yesterday. Cas’s interviewing skills were infinitely better than they had been.

“We need a way to draw them out,” Dean said as they left the home of a 52-year-old woman who had witnessed a demon attack while she’d been driving. No one had found the victim’s body yet. “Get them all in one place.”

“What do you have in mind?” Cas asked.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“What is it, Dean?”

“Well,” Dean said, getting in the driver’s seat. It had been a long day, and he just wanted to shower and put some tv on back at the motel. “If they knew I was in town, they’d probably all want to come for me.”

Cas waited to respond until Dean had turned the keys. The engine turned over and Dean pulled his baby smoothly onto the road.

“Using you as bait is not a good plan,” Cas said slowly.

“It’s better than picking them off one by one when we don’t know how many there are,” Dean said. It came out harsher than he’d intended, and he instantly regretted it. “Cas….”

“It’s fine, Dean,” the angel said, staring out the window. Dean could only see the edge of his face.

“What do you think we should do?” Dean asked.

A pause. “We could use me as bait.”

Dean gave half a laugh to that. “No way, man.”

“We’ll think of something,” Cas sighed. “Right now I’m tired.”

“You’re tired?” Dean asked. “You feeling okay?”

“Just tired.” His voice was heavy, and Dean didn’t press him. They rode the rest of the way to the motel in silence, stopping only to get some takeout.

When they got back to the motel, Dean cracked open the bag of fast food on the rickety motel table. Cas turned the tv on and lounged back on his bed. They only had one room now, having surrendered the one Mary and Dean had used the night before. Dean sighed, leaning back in his chair as the food hit his stomach. He glanced at Cas; his gaze was far away, pointed at the tv but not focused.

“Anything good on?” Dean asked, wiping his mouth and reaching for a fistful of fries with his other hand.

Cas sighed. He’d been doing that a lot lately. “Not really.”

They sat with the low murmur of the tv for another several minutes. Dean polished off his first burger and started on the second.

“The gate should be our priority,” Cas said. “Otherwise they’ll keep coming through.”

“I left another message for Crowley,” Dean said. “Guess he’s busy.”

“And the angels are otherwise occupied.”

“You know who might be able to close it?” Dean said thoughtfully.

“Who?”

“The one who opened it in the first place. Billie.”

“The reaper who wants you dead?” Cas frowned.

“Yeah. Was it just me or did she and Crowley have a thing? Maybe he can call her.”

“That leaves us with our original problem,” Cas said. “Reaching Crowley.”

“Right.”

The conversation lapsed. Dean finished his dinner and headed into the bathroom to shower. Before he closed the door he stuck his head back out, checking that Cas was still on the bed, showing no sign of movement. He couldn’t fly away anymore, but Dean couldn’t be sure his friend wasn’t planning on running off.

“You’re staying the night, right?” he asked.

Cas looked around, confused. “Yes?” he said uncertainly.

“Good,” Dean said, and he shut the door.

When he came out, hair wet and skin comfortably warm, Cas was poking at his phone.

“Anything good?” he asked, feeling a bit like a broken record. He threw his dirty clothes onto his duffel and flopped back onto his own bed.

“I’m taking a quiz to see which character on _The Wire_ I am,” Cas said, frowning at his phone. “I am not guilty of any of these vices, but I’m also not innocent.”

“What are they?” Dean said into his pillow.

“Booze, smoking, gambling, drugs, or ‘Nothing. I’m totally innocent.’”

“Pick ‘innocent,’” Dean said. “That one’s a joke.”

Cas shrugged. Dean rolled onto his side, pulling his pillow tighter between his ear and shoulder. He saw Cas frown at his phone.

“I don’t like any of these, either,” he said. He shut the phone off and dropped it on the bed beside him, reaching to turn the tv back up.

“What’d they say?” Dean asked, curious.

“It was asking for my best quality,” he said over the renewed noise of the tv.

“And?” Dean prompted. Like hell he was gonna sit in silence with grumpy Cas all night.

“Loyalty, honesty, sense of humor, intelligence, bravery,” Cas listed, his tone clipped and short.

Dean frowned. “That’s a stupid question.” Cas dipped his head a little, and Dean realized he might have misunderstood. “Cause you can’t pick just one,” he explained. “If it was ‘which one don’t you have?’ I’d go with ‘sense of humor,’ but then again you’ve gotten pretty good at that lately.”

Cas looked at him, frowning. The moment stretched longer and longer. Dean replayed his words through his head twice, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

“Oh,” Cas said after long enough that Dean had actually started sweating.

Dean grunted and rolled onto his back to look at the tv. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing good,” Cas said.

“Can I have the remote?”

He passed it over and Dean started channel flipping. He skipped past two news stations, something in black and white, something in Spanish, and finally stopped at a shot of a man with thick, dark hair stepping out of his car at nighttime on a suburban street. It looked like a thriller. He tossed the remote onto the table between the beds and leaned back.

The man looked over his shoulder twice on his way up the front walk. He was either planning on robbing the place, or sleeping with someone who lived there. He rang the bell. Sex, then, probably.

The woman who answered the door was wearing lingerie. Dean sat bolt upright and lunged for the remote. He slammed the channel button, but not before the woman said in a clear, sultry voice, “I’ve been waiting for you. For so…long.”

The channel switched to the Spanish program. Dean stared hard at the smiling woman who was holding up a pot of mashed potatoes and speaking very quickly. He refused to look at Cas.

“This is in Spanish,” the angel said after several moments.

“Yeah.”

“Can you understand it?”

“No.”

“Was that a porno?” Cas asked.

“We’re not gonna talk about it,” Dean said, knowing his face was bright red.

“Of course,” Cas said, and Dean could hear the smirk in the bastard’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quiz Cas was doing can be found [here](http://data.baltimoresun.com/quizzes/the-wire/). I have never watched The Wire.


	18. Caught and Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter I'm posting tonight in my the-premiere-is-in-three-days writing freakout. This chapter is unbetaed because I'm writing crazy-fast. Please forgive any glaring issues.

Even though Toni’s house wasn’t the Men of Letter’s headquarters, her library was massive. It consisted of an entire room of her grand house, and that room took up the majority of the secret basement.

Sam and Toni each had a stack of books in front of them, searching for a séance ritual that would allow them to negotiate with Cannon. Most rituals required a psychic, or a piece of the spirit’s remains. Unfortunately, they had access to neither, as the British Men of Letters were very conservative when it came to utilizing the paranormal. If they couldn’t control it, they destroyed it. So they had no psychics in their ranks.

Mary was among the shelves, looking for any more potentially helpful books. “What do we have to offer him?” she called from deeper in the library than Sam expected. “If we can get a link.”

“Me?” Toni suggested dubiously.

“We’re not handing you over to a homicidal ghost,” Sam said.

“If it comes down to me or my son? You’re going to bloody save my son.”

Mary came around the shelf, two more books in her hands. “There’s a way to save both of you,” she said.

“How?” asked Sam.

“I don’t know,” Mary admitted. “But you and your brother always figure these things out. What have you done in this situation in the past?”

“Some pretty stupid stuff,” Sam sighed. “Basically what Toni suggested.”

“No one’s going to be bait,” Mary said firmly. “This is a rescue, not a sacrifice.”

“What would you do?” Toni snapped at her. “If it was your son captured?”

“I already demonstrated that,” Mary said coolly, and Toni shut her mouth. Sam inspected the book in front of him.

“Even if we find him, how are we gonna put him to rest?” he asked the awkward silence. “He’s buried under the rubble in Wales. We’ll never find the remains.”

“There’s a spell,” Toni said immediately. “In case a Final Initiate began to become corrupted, the old men developed a spell to unbind them.”

“And you can perform it?” Mary asked.

“Of course. The problem is getting them both here.”

“This could be something,” Sam said, sitting up straighter. He read from an ancient vellum page covered in careful black ink. “‘Conjuring the Recently Dead.’ It says the link can be stronger because they haven’t been dead as long…. The deadline is a lunar cycle.”

“We’re definitely inside that,” Mary said.

She and Toni both came to look over his shoulders. It was a complex spell requiring thirty-seven different ingredients, but the main one was—

“‘A memory of the deceased?” Toni read.

“You or I could do that,” Sam said. “Do you have the rest of the ingredients?”

Her eyes scanned down the list. “I think so. I might be low on thistledown, but I’ll check.”

“Okay then,” Sam said. He offered Toni the book, and she headed into the storeroom with it. The weighted door swung gently shut behind her.

“How many kinds of eyes does this spell need?” Toni called exasperatedly.

Mary sat on the other side of the table, skimming her hands over the books. “So you’re an angry, arrogant ghost bent on protecting your organization’s secrets. What do you want?” She closed her eyes.

“Plenty of thistle,” Toni called absently, not hearing their conversation.

“Followers?” Sam suggested. Mary turned to him, frowning. “I mean, to sort of guarantee that the organization isn’t gonna disappear. Like the American branch did.”

“Maybe,” she mused. “But it has to be better than a guarantee.”

“Like what?”

“Like….” She cast around, frustrated. “How much trouble would you have to be in for God to come back and help you?”

Sam laughed in surprise. “I don’t think God would come back for anyone,” he said. “He told Dean that much.”

“Damn,” Mary grinned. “Having the Creator of the universe on speed-dial would be nice.”

“That’d be too easy,” Sam said. “Hey, you said ‘speed-dial’ right.”

Mary beamed at him, taking a fake bow in her seat. “I’m learning.”

“It’s amazing,” Sam told her honestly. “It took Cas years to—”

There was a thump from inside the storeroom. They looked around.

“Toni?” Mary called. “Are you okay?”

There was no answer. “She’s been in there a while....” Sam said, his voice trailing off. “You don’t think—”

Mary bounded to the storeroom door. She seized the handle and tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Toni?” she called. “Toni!”

Sam met her at the door, trying the knob himself. It was firmly locked. He stepped back and rammed his shoulder into it. The door stayed resolute, but Sam knew he was going to get a bruise bigger than his hand. He tried again anyway.

“Stop. Stop!” Mary told him, grabbing at his arm. “It won’t open. It’s a Men of Letters door.”

Sam banged on the door, breathing hard. “Toni!” he called. “Answer us! Toni!”

Mary put her ear close to the handle. She motioned Sam closer; there were voices on the other side.

“—more than Trevor ever could,” Toni said. “Bring him back. I’ll take the oath. You can kill me.”

“Your son’s mind is softer,” Cannon answered, his voice soft and calculating. “He is easier to teach.”

“I swear I will do anything you say,” Toni said. “I know more to start. Please.”

“You need to be taught, Lady Bevell,” Cannon mused. “I have never seen you so motivated.”

“Please,” whispered Toni. “My son. I’ll Initiate right now.”

“That is not the way of things, Lady Bevell,” he said severely. “You disobeyed the Order. You disobeyed me. The nail that rears its head gets struck down.”

The secret door exploded inward.

Sam whirled around, reaching for his handgun before the shattered wood hit the floor. A woman stormed into the basement. She had long brown hair and dark eyes. Her well-tailored suit was neatly pressed, pristine even. She moved like she had known this place her entire life.

She raised a hand to Sam and Mary. Both of them flew backward, slamming into the wall. Mary hit a bookcase and was deluged in a mass of books. Her expression was dazed even as the woman’s powers pinned them both.

Red eyes flashed at Sam, whose feet were barely touching the ground. “Hang tight,” she said with a British accent.

The demon held out her other hand to the storeroom door. It ripped clean off its hinges and smashed into the library’s large table. Inside, Toni was kneeling on the floor, the spell bowl smoking in front of her. There were tears in her eyes, but they hadn’t fallen.

The woman flicked her hand, and the ceiling of the storeroom cracked; the devil’s trap carved there broke.

“How quaint,” she said. “It’s not the nail that changes. It’s the wood.” She walked into the storeroom. “Get up,” she said to Toni.

Cannon’s voice issued from the bowl. “What is that?”

“I’m a demon,” the woman sneered. “I’m inside your secret library. I’m going to steal all your secrets. And then I’m going to track down every one of your stupid, backwards—”

“No, you won’t.” The smoke in the bowl disappeared. Sam looked up in surprise as Cannon’s ghost appeared in the library, next to the wreckage of the doors.

“Hello there,” the demon said, her eyes going red again.

“You should not have come here,” Cannon said. He lifted a head to the ceiling. The cracked wood repaired itself above the demon’s head. She looked up, baring her teeth in fury. The power holding Sam and Mary against the wall disappeared, and they fell back to their feet unsteadily.

Toni got up in the storeroom, but she was blocked by the trapped demon. “Cannon—” she called.

“Do the spell,” the demon said, fixing her with a red glare. Cannon stalked toward them. Sam lunged for his fallen gun.

“What?” Toni asked breathlessly.

“You don’t need this trash to find your son for you,” the demon said slowly. “Destroy him. I’ll help you get him back.”

Sam fired a shot at the approaching ghost. It went through him and he turned briefly into an unformed, smoky mass. When he resolidified, he gestured at Sam, who was slammed into the wall once again.

“I’m not making a deal with you,” Toni said, glancing nervously at the fight. Mary took a shot at the ghost as well, but it was just as ineffective. “You’re a demon—”

“Lady Bevell,” said Cannon. “Have you sunk this low? Hiding behind _hunters_?”

In several quick flashes of movement, Cannon was standing over Sam. He held out his hand, gripping his shirt.

“No!” Mary yelled, shooting again and again.

“Do it, Ani,” the demon said. Toni stared at her, opening her mouth slightly. Her eyes were wide.

Sam felt the ghost’s powers rip into him. It was the same pain he’d felt in the ancient crypt, like something was tearing his heart in half. He tried to hold back his scream.

“ _Cum viribus meis malo cognoscere in hoc mundo!_ ”

With the first line of the spell, Cannon’s power receded. Sam gasped for breath, wrapping his arms around his aching chest. Toni’s voice grew stronger with each word, shouting her anger, and the ghost’s form went taut, his head tilted back.

 _“Adiuro te, spiritus, finis et hoc obsequium vestrum. Vade, et immarcescibilem, morietur! In perpetuum!_ ”

The ghost screamed. He lifted both hands to brace himself on the wall above Sam’s head. The wood burned, and his scream escalated. Sam shielded his eyes, pressing himself back as the ghost burst into flame. A rush of heat swept over him, and then it was gone. The air was still again and Sam coughed, trying to get up.

“Sam!” Mary cried. She knelt beside him. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, looking wildly around at the demon. Mary pulled him to his feet.

“Who are you?” he asked breathlessly.

The demon was still stuck in the devil’s trap, facing Toni, whose face was stark white.

“You don’t look so hot,” the demon smirked at her, ignoring Sam.

Toni took a step toward her, right at the edge of the circle. “Careful!” Sam called. He and Mary approached, their guns ready.

“You called me ‘Ani,’” Toni said softly.

She stepped over the circle and hugged the demon tightly.

Sam gasped; Mary frowned, lowering her gun. The demon grunted and shoved Toni back out of the circle.

“Ask my consent first,” she complained.

Toni was beaming. Then she turned pissed. “What the hell, Abby?”

The demon grinned, glancing over her shoulder at the Winchesters. “Hey, Sam,” she said.

“Abby?” Sam said to Toni. “Your sister, Abby?”

“Yes,” Toni said. “Excuse me, Sam.” She reached fearlessly back into the trap, grabbing the demon’s shoulder and turning her back around. “Why are you a demon?”

She stepped back, pulling herself out of Toni’s grip. The red eyes crinkled in dire amusement. “Because I went to Hell, darling.”

“How are you here?” Toni demanded. “Why? You’re a demon.”

Abby shrugged. “Someone left the door open. Thought I’d stop by the house and see if anyone was still alive.”

“Well that was your mistake,” Sam said, finding his footing. “Toni, don’t worry. We can save her.”

“Save me?” Abby asked. “What do I need to be saved from, Sam?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know more than that.” She sidled closer to their side of the circle, her red eyes amused. “You’ve changed. You and Dean didn’t want to save me before.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Poor Sam Winchester. Dean went to Hell. I saw him a few times, you know. Before he got out. That’s twice you didn’t save me.”

“What was the first time?” he said, wide eyed and confused.

“When I went to Hell,” she smirked. “That was a pretty bad night for me. And you two just drove off into the sunset.”

“Abby,” Toni said sadly. But Sam was remembering. He realized why this demon seemed so familiar. Why she knew him, and why a part of him felt so guilty when he looked into her burning red eyes.

“Bela,” he breathed.

“Hey, Sam,” she said again, and turned her back on him. Mary glanced up at her son, but didn’t say anything.

“So I hear I’ve got a nephew?” Abby said.

Toni swallowed. “Can you find him?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” Toni asked desperately.

“On what you’re willing to give me,” the demon said.

Sam snapped out of his shock. “Toni, you’re not making a deal with her,” he said. “She’s a crossroads demon. We’ll find Trevor another way.”

“Trevor?” Abby asked. “You named your son after me?”

Toni’s expression turned guilty and sad. “It seemed fitting.” They stared at each other for a long moment.

“I suppose it does,” Abby said finally.

“How do you get ‘Trevor’ from ‘Abby’?” Mary asked.

“I don’t believe I’ve met you,” Abby said, fixing her eyes on Mary. “Sam’s new fling?”

“No!” Sam said immediately, his cheeks heating up. “She’s my mom.”

Abby gave Mary an appraising look. “Man, how young were you?”

“It’s complicated,” Mary said. “Kind of like your family.”

“Touché,” the demon smiled. “My middle name was Taylor, to answer your question.”

“What do you want?” Toni asked, her voice firm. “To find Trevor.”

“Hmm, that’s a tough one,” Abby said, folding her arms and grinning like a cat.

“Toni—” Sam began, but Toni snapped at him.

“Sam, I may have just given up my son to save you. Stay out of this.”

“There are better ways!” he protested.

“No. There aren’t.” She fixed hard eyes on Abby’s face. “Tell me.”

“I’ll be honest,” Abby said. “I didn’t expect this to be so easy.” She stepped right up to the edge of the circle. “Just your soul. But I’ll be generous. You can have ten years. Then your son will be all grown up.”

“Deal,” Toni said.

“Wait!” Sam said desperately. “Bel—Abby. Why are you doing this? The Bela I knew. She’d never have—”

“Stormed back into her childhood prison to rescue her baby sister?” Abby snapped. “That’s right. The Bela you knew wouldn’t’ve ever done that. So what happened in Hell that made her suddenly so selfless?” Her eyes were blood red, showing anger for the first time. “Maybe you should have gotten to know Bela better.”

She turned her back.

“We have to kiss?” Toni asked.

“You don’t remember?” Abby asked. “I made my deal with you.”

“What?” Toni breathed, and Abby laughed. Sam felt cold.

“Yes, we kiss. And you have to break this circle.”

Toni nodded. She grabbed one of the guns in the storeroom and pointed it up at the circle.

“Wait,” Mary said. “Toni, just one second. Please.”

Toni hesitated, looking to Mary with a question in her eyes.

“If you let her go, you might never trap her again,” Mary said. “We have a cure. We can turn her back into a human.”

Toni hesitated. “But who would find Trevor?”

“You’d make her choose between her sister and her son?” Abby asked. “That’s even crueler than what I’m doing.”

“She probably already knows where he is,” Sam said, his mouth dry. “And once she’s human, she’d tell us.”

“What makes you think I’d be happy about turning back?” Abby asked. “What makes you think my demon memories wouldn’t be a bit too horrible, and I’d go mad?”

“And you want to destroy your sister?” Sam asked her. “You want her to go through what you did?”

Abby shrugged. “If it means I’ll get to rule the world with my sister one day, what’s a few hundred years of torture?” She glanced at Toni. “It wasn’t so bad, and she’s tough.”

“Toni, this isn’t your sister anymore,” Sam pleaded. “Let us cure her.”

“Do you?” Toni asked softly.

Abby frowned.

“Do you want to be human again?” Toni asked. She met her sister’s eyes, her expression pained. “I can’t force you.”

“Yes, you can!” Sam said. “She’s trapped—”

Mary put a hand on his arm. They shared a look, and Sam fell silent.

“No,” Abby said. “I don’t.”

There was a long silence as the two sisters stared at each other. Then Toni pointed the gun at the ceiling, and fired a single shot into the circle of black paint. Abby stalked toward her.

“Thanks, Ani,” she said. She reached out, taking Toni’s shoulder. Toni didn’t shy away, but she looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” the demon muttered.

She pressed her lips quickly against Toni’s. There was no heat to it, no movement at all. It seemed almost apologetic. Then she pulled away and disappeared. Toni blinked.

Trevor appeared, lying motionless in the middle of the devil’s trap. Toni gasped and lunged toward him. She gathered him into her arms and felt for a pulse. Sam and Mary ran to join her. Sam took the boy’s wrist. He was shivering.

“He’s alive,” Toni said. She pulled him closer, squeezing tight. “He’s alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation for Toni's spell, because Google Translate has trouble with dead languages and I don't know Latin. Here's what it's supposed to mean:  
>  _"With the power I have to recognize evil in this world, I bind you, broken spirit, and hereby end your service to your cause. Go, fade, die. Forever."_
> 
> Short [post](http://ordered---chaos.tumblr.com/post/151639448372/bela-and-the-demon-she-made-her-deal-with-in-my) about Toni/Ani and Abby/Bela.
> 
> Next chapter is the actual Destiel one. I promise! Dx I might even be able to post it tonight! *eye twitches*


	19. Borrowed Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third chapter tonight. If you missed the previous two, go back! They're important ;). This will be my last post tonight. Next one will be tomorrow!

Crowley finally called back and agreed to meet with them. When Dean asked if he could bring Billie with him, Crowley snapped, “What do I look like, the Reaper Police? Isn’t that your job?”

“Come on, Crowley,” Dean argued. “I know you guys had a thing when the world was ending. You at least got her number.”

“I do not have her number,” the King replied icily, and hung up.

But when he arrived at the little diner Dean and Cas had picked out, the Reaper was beside him, looking around with her usual superior disinterest.

“Nice place,” she said, casting an eye at the menu.

Dean and Cas had taken one side of the booth, leaving the other for Crowley and Billie.

“You gonna get anything?” Dean asked.

“You’re paying,” Billie said.

Crowley gave her an appraising look. “I should take you out more often.”

“Nah,” Billie said, supremely disdainful.

“Oh, darling, you wound me,” Crowley said as she waved the waiter over. Dean pretended to gag behind his beer.

“I’ll have the bacon dog and fries,” she said.

The waiter nodded, writing it down and looking to the rest of them.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Crowley said.

“Burger,” Dean grunted, glaring at them. “And fries.”

The waiter looked at Cas. “And you?”

“I’m not hungry,” the angel said. “Thank you.”

Frowning, the poor guy shrugged and said, “Drinks?”

Dean and Cas already had theirs, but Billie ordered herself and Crowley two large Cokes. The King made a questioning noise, but didn’t protest.

“So, what do you want?” Billie asked as the waiter departed. “Better be something good.”

“There’s a hell-gate open,” Dean said. “A few miles from here.”

“Yeah,” Billie said. “So?”

“There is?” Crowley asked angrily. “Whose brilliant idea was that?” He glared accusingly at Dean.

“Not me!” he said. “Adam and Michael left it open.”

“I’d heard Michael was back,” Billie said. “Shame.”

“We can’t close it ourselves,” Cas said. “We were wondering, since that’s your area of expertise—”

“Oh, I can close it,” Billie said. “I opened it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “That’s why—”

“But not for free,” Billie interrupted.

“Of course not,” Dean sighed. “What do you want?”

“Have a little respect,” said Crowley. “That’s the end of your life you’re talking to.”

“Potentially,” Billie grinned. “I don’t want much. I’d close it eventually anyway. But since you asked so nicely, I can close it today. On one condition.”

“And what is that?” Dean asked.

Billie turned her eyes to Castiel. “When you die, you’re going to the same place as the Winchesters.” Cas frowned as she continued. “To the Empty. No more of this reborn angel business. Next time you go…. Just like them, you’re gone.”

“Okay,” Cas said without hesitation.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Dean said, turning to Cas. “You’re okay with this?”

“Yes,” Cas said, his eyes on Billie. “Why did you need my consent?”

She shrugged. “Funner that way. Now Dean knows.”

The waiter approached their table, his arms laden with plates. He set them down and checked his notes.

“Actually, I’ll take this to-go,” Billie said. The guy blinked. “Work business.”

“’kay,” he grunted, and he gathered up Billie’s food, bringing it back to the kitchen.

Billie stood up. “Well, I won’t be seeing you. Unless you die.”

“I’ll call you?” Crowley asked as the waiter came back, offering her a plastic bag.

“No,” she said. The waiter turned his back, and she disappeared.

“Nice date,” Dean said, a couple of fries sticking out of his mouth. “She’s a charmer.”

“Kind of like yours,” Crowley retorted with a glance at Cas, who was staring absently at the place where Billie had been standing. Dean kicked him under the table and Cas jolted, looking around.

“So you gonna help us hunt down the demons who already came through?” Dean asked Crowley.

“Really, Dean. I thought you knew me better. Why would I want to run around this silly town hunting wayward demons?”

“Because you’re the King of Hell and you didn’t tell them to be here,” Dean suggested, taking a sip of his beer.

“Former King, love,” Crowley said. “And just because the ungrateful sods used to be my business, doesn’t mean I still care.”

“You don’t care that your dynasty is falling apart?” Cas asked.

Crowley stood up, leaving his bacon dog on the table. “As much as I adore couples therapy, that’s my cue to leave. Have fun on your demon-hunting date.”

“It’s not a date!” Dean said, but Crowley had already disappeared.

Cas sighed. “We should get going.”

“When I’m done,” Dean said, eyeing Crowley’s unfinished meal. “Do you think he messed with that at all?”

“I wouldn’t risk it,” Cas said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

So Dean finished his burger and fries, leaning against the bench beside Cas. When he was done, he left the poor waiter a generous tip for having to deal with them, and they headed back to the car.

“Do we have to talk about that?” Dean asked, watching Cas out of the corner of his eye.

“About what?” he asked, pausing with one foot in the car.

“You just agreed to give yourself to Billie.”

Cas shrugged, sitting in the passenger seat. “It’s what everyone else gets. I never asked to be resurrected.”

It still bothered Dean, but he didn’t say more. He could tell that Cas didn’t want to discuss it. The conversation would require too much from both of them, and Dean didn’t want to start something in the middle of the hunt.

First they stopped by the warehouse. True to her word, Billie had already shut the gate. Cas could tell. Apparently four demons had made it through before she’d gotten there, and now they buzzed like angry, shapeless flies in the confines of the circle. Dean read an exorcism, and the four demons sank into the floor, leaving vivid burn marks.

“Now we just gotta track down the rest of ‘em,” Dean said, clapping his hands together.

“We’ll never find them all,” Cas said. The look on his face said he did not like this fact one bit. “At least twenty must have made it through. We can’t let more innocents be hurt by them.”

“So, what are you suggesting?” Dean asked. They were sitting in the Impala, still parked outside the warehouse.

Cas sighed. “Your plan might be our only option.”

Dean thought about it for a long, quiet moment. Then he grinned. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You’ll have my back. It’s not bait if you’re just gonna set the whole line on fire.”

Cas frowned at him and Dean grunted, “Bad analogy.” He turned the key and drove off.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into their motel, having worked out a plan. That night, Dean would go bar hopping. He would spend a short time at each joint, giving any demons in the crowd time to notice him. Then he’d move to the next place, and the next, until he had picked up enough of a tail, at which point he would return to the warehouse, where Cas would be waiting. Hopefully word would get around that Dean Winchester was trying to close the hell-gate, and the demons would converge on the warehouse. The building was well-suited for a fight; it was old, abandoned, and already covered in demon traps from the day before.

But it was still several hours before any bars would even be open. So they returned to the motel for a bit of relaxing before the fight began again.

Dean lay back on his bed, wondering whether Sam and Mom had gotten Toni’s kid back yet. He had no doubt that they would. He hoped they ganked that stupid ghost for good measure; he would be happier when the British Men of Letters couldn’t cause them trouble anymore.

“Your shoes are still on,” Cas said, making his way back from the bathroom, his hands and face still slightly damp.

“They’re not under the blankets,” Dean grumbled, shuffling his feet a bit. He tried to wiggle his right boot off, but it was tied too tightly.

“Here,” Cas said. He pulled one shoelace until the knot came undone, then did the other. Dean lay frozen, too surprised to protest.

“Thanks?” Dean said when he found his voice. That was only super awkward. He cleared his throat and kicked his boots off. They made a satisfying _thud_ when they hit the floor.

Cas reached for the remote. “Want to watch some tv?” he asked, unperturbed.

Dean groaned, rolling onto one elbow and pushing aside his feeling of weirdness. “Sure. Nothing like daytime television.”

Cas turned it on and passed the remote to Dean before sitting on the edge of his own bed and bending to take his shoes off. To Cas’s credit, he didn’t make any porno jokes while Dean flipped through the channels.

“I don’t believe it,” Dean said, propping himself up better.

The tv was playing shadowy credits accompanied by a catchy, dramatic drumbeat. Dean would recognize that opening anywhere.

“They’re actually playing _The Untouchables_ ,” he said. “This is one of my favorite movies.”

“Really?” Cas said with interest. “Why?”

“You’ll see,” Dean grinned. He turned up the volume and settled back, crossing his arms and waiting for the credits to end. He couldn’t wait to watch Cas’s reactions.

He was not disappointed. Cas had definitely learned how to enjoy tv. He watched the movie with an expression of rapt attention, relaxed on his bed. Whenever something particularly exciting happened, he would glance over at Dean, and their eyes would meet. Dean would quickly grin and look back at the movie.

During each commercial break, Dean asked him what he thought, but Cas’s answers were much more stoic than his actions during the film. Near the end, when everything was going to hell, Cas actually pulled his knees up toward his chest, his eyes wide with worry. When the channel went to commercial, Dean asked if he was okay.

“I hope Stone doesn’t die,” he said softly, which Dean thought was weird, because Stone was his least favorite character. He’d worried way more about Ness when he’d watched this the first time.

When it was over, Dean sat up and turned the tv off. “So what’d you think?” he asked.

“It was very good, Dean,” Cas answered. “I see why you like it.”

Dean grinned. “I thought you would.” He checked the time and sighed. “I better go.” He would much rather just hang out here, discuss the movie if Cas felt like it, or maybe watch another.

Cas sat up, nodding. He seemed to share Dean’s sentiment. “We’ll watch something together again?”

“Definitely.”

Dean dropped Cas off at the warehouse and drove to a bar on the edge of town. It was essential that no demons knew he was here with Cas. If they realized this was a bait-and-trap, they’d never show up at the warehouse.

So he bar-hopped alone, grabbing a beer and a game of pool at each place. He kept an eye out for any demons, but didn’t see any until the third bar. The shifty man in a Nirvana T-shirt met his eyes and immediately turned away. He left the bar, and Dean hoped he’d go find some demon friends for him and Cas to gank.

At his fourth stop, Dean had a spectacular pool victory against a burly man with frankly awesome tattoos. He managed to skip the cue straight over the 8-ball and hit his last stripe into the pocket. He wished Cas had seen it. As it was, the move was so cool, (and their bets so low) that the man bought him a drink and they shared a laugh. A couple of women who had watched the game came over to flirt with them. Dean hoped Cas wasn’t mad that he was stuck waiting in a crappy warehouse while Dean was out on the town. He excused himself and headed to his fifth bar.

It was about midnight when he left the seventh. He pulled out his phone on the way to the car, pausing as he fumbled with his keys.

“You found it?” he asked the phone. “I’m on my way.”

He got into the car and slammed the door. When he drove out of the parking lot, the black sedan that had been following him for the last hour pulled out, too.

Dean slipped into the warehouse. The lights were bright after the dim walk from the street. His heart was beating quickly. He didn’t glance around, but walked straight to the wall where the gate had been. He stood in the middle of the devil’s trap and waited.

The door creaked open. Dean turned slowly, letting a grin slide over his face. Two demons walked inside, glancing around and smiling at Dean.

“Really?” he said. “Only two of you?”

“More than you,” one of the demons sneered.

Dean spread his hands wide, tipping his head as the demons approached. They split up, coming at him from both sides. Dean waited until they were closer. Then he tossed some holy water at the demon on the left, took two quick steps out of the devil’s trap, and stabbed the reeling bastard in the stomach. The other demon lunged at Dean as his buddy died, but Cas came out of nowhere, grabbed him by the neck and killed him with an angel blade in the back. Dean grinned.

“Nice,” he said appreciatively.

Cas pulled his blade out of the demon’s back and let him fall to the ground. He backed up into the shadows again. Dean went to the door and peered out. There were two trucks idling outside.

“They better not touch my car,” he muttered, and stepped out and raising his arms. “You fellas lost?” he shouted to the trucks. “Come on in, door’s open!”

He ducked back into the warehouse and retreated to the trap again. He could have sworn he heard Cas sigh.

A man pushed the door open and held it for those behind him. Two, four, five…. They kept coming, until nine demons had entered the warehouse. Dean gripped Ruby’s knife tighter.

“Welcome to the party,” he grinned. “Anyone want drinks?”

Several of the demons laughed, but then there was the sound of glass breaking. Hidden in the shadows, Cas had thrown a holy oil Molotov at those closest to the door. Two demons went up in flames immediately, and the entrance was blocked by fire. Several others were ablaze, screaming and tripping over themselves, setting their companions on fire. In the confusion, Dean rushed those closest to him as Cas emerged from the darkness again. They dispatched the panicked demons easily, leaving only one alive. Dean shoved him against the wall, holding Ruby’s knife to his throat.

“How many more of you are there?” he demanded. “Tell me.”

“Why should I?” the demon panted. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Tell me quickly, and we’ll just send you back to Hell,” Dean said, letting the knife nick the demon’s skin.

He swallowed. “The door’s open…” he said uncertainly.

Dean pressed closer. Cas standing behind him with his eyes on the door. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about, huh?”

The demon glanced from him to the angel, then said, “There’s a carful on their way here. Ten or eleven. That’s everyone who stayed in town.”

“Good,” Dean said. “Thanks for that.”

He was about to cut the demon’s throat, but Cas began, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” and Dean stayed his hand. He held eye contact with the demon while Cas recited the exorcism. The angel pronounced each syllable carefully, his voice ringing with a power Dean had never heard in a simple exorcism before.

“You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” he said as the angel finished. The demon’s body convulsed and Dean took a step backward as black smoke poured from the vessel’s mouth. It collapsed to the ground as the demon sank back to Hell.

“Thank you,” Cas said softly.

Dean grunted. “Why’d it matter to you?”

Cas shrugged, making a noncommittal noise.

Dean let it go and went back to the door. The fire was trying to spread to the surrounding wall.

“We have any more Molotovs?” he asked, reaching for the fire extinguisher. He sprayed the holy fire, which seemed reluctant to go out by such trivial means. But he got it out and peered through the doorway. He couldn’t see any more trucks.

“One,” Cas said, and Dean nodded.

“Same plan then, once they show up.”

They didn’t have to wait long. The demons arrived and they dispatched them just as efficiently as the first two rounds. One demon got a lucky cut on Dean’s arm, but Cas healed it after the fight with no problem. Again, they interrogated the final surviving demon, who reluctantly confirmed what the first had said. This was all the demons who had come through the hell-gate and stayed in Nebraska. A few had skipped town, but Dean decided to let those go. There would always be demons in the world.

The only hiccup was the second holy fire Molotov getting a bit out of control. Apparently, the previous flames had held on to the wall despite the fire extinguisher, and were all too happy to flare up when Cas threw the second bottle. Dean scattered some gasoline around the warehouse and bodies before they left to make sure that all trace of him and Cas was destroyed. They went back to the motel, grabbed their stuff, and left Nebraska while the firefighters were still putting out the blaze.

On the road southward, Dean turned up the music. They’d ganked twenty-two demons, neither he nor Cas had been seriously hurt, and they hadn’t had to deal with any questioning authorities. This was a damn good job. Beside him, Cas was watching out the window, a faint smile on his face. It made Dean sing louder.

Fifty miles over the Kansas border, Dean pulled into a gas station. He was getting tired, and if he was gonna keep driving, he needed something unhealthy to eat.

“You want anything?” he asked.

“I’ll stretch my legs,” Cas said, getting out of the car.

“Since when do you stretch your legs?”

“It’s a figure of speech, Dean.”

“Alright, smarty-pants,” he returned, laughing. Cas gave a small smile and watched Dean fill the car.

“Where are we going?” he asked as Dean put the pump back.

“I figured Oklahoma,” Dean said. “The cabin. We can pick up Sam and Mom…probably in Oklahoma City.”

“I don’t really want to spend the any more time with Lucifer than necessary,” Cas said.

“Oh right.” It was still weird that the Devil was hanging around Bobby’s safehouse. Probably destroying the place. “Good point.”

They went into the station to grab some snacks and pay for the gas, both thinking. As they checked out, Dean said, “What if we stop at a motel? Somewhere out of the way. Celebrate a little?”

The cashier, a woman in her early thirties who had been watching Cas with too much interest for Dean’s liking, said, “There’s a nice place a few miles from here. Not too expensive, and the sheets are soft.”

That sounded perfect to Dean, though he didn’t understand why she was bringing up the sheets. He got directions and they went back to the car.

“She was watching you,” Cas said as they drove away. “Closely.”

“Me?” Dean said. “It was definitely you she was checking out.”

Cas licked his lips, watching the road.

“Want me to go back?” Dean asked. “You could ask her out—”

Cas whipped his head around like Dean had said something crazy. “Of course not,” he said. “I don’t want to spend time with a stranger.”

“Oh,” Dean said, somewhat taken aback. “Okay.”

Finding the place was easy, as the cashier had given very clear instructions. What was less easy was when the attendant, another woman in her thirties, offered them the couple’s discount.

“We’re not together,” Dean said, trying to decide if this woman was the gas station woman’s twin, or older sister.

“Shame,” the woman said, ringing them up. “I’ll give it to you anyway.”

“That’s really—” he began, but she winked and said, “Really, hon. It’s no trouble.”

Dean grit his teeth. “Make sure we have two beds,” he said.

“Do you have a sister?” Cas asked her as she finished the transaction and passed Dean a receipt.

“Yep,” the woman said, popping her gum. “I own this place, my sis own the gas station. She send you here?”

“Yes,” Cas said.

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman said with a warm smile and another wink.

The room she gave them was on the far end of the motel. Dean parked the car right in front of it and they went in. Thankfully, it did have two beds, a large tv on one wall, basic furniture, and a soft blue rug. Dean dropped his bag on the floor and beelined for the bathroom. When he came out, Cas was sitting on the bed closest to the door and window.

“Wait, that’s my bed,” Dean said.

Cas frowned up at him. “Why?”

Because he’d always used that one. Because that was the bed attackers would be closest to if they broke in during the night. Because he had to protect Sam.

“I like the window,” he said, grabbing the duffel.

“Don’t you always close the shades, anyway?” Cas asked.

“Well, yeah,” Dean mumbled. “But the air…you know.”

“I don’t sleep, Dean,” Cas said, standing up. “It makes more sense for me to have the bed close to the door,”—Dean frowned—“but you can have it if you wish.”

Dean hesitated, searching Cas’s eyes. They were the same color as the rug. “Nah, it’s okay,” he said finally. He put his bag down at the foot of the second bed. “You can have it.”

Cas nodded and looked around. “This place is nice,” he said thoughtfully. “It should have cost more.”

“I’m not complaining,” Dean said, flopping onto his bed. He was so tired. It hadn’t really hit him until just now, when they were settled and safe and he had a soft bed beneath him.

“Your shoes are on,” Cas said softly. Dean groaned in response. Then he felt a gentle tug on his boot; Cas was untying it again. Dean dragged himself into a sitting position.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said awkwardly. “I can untie my own shoes.”

“I know,” Cas said. “But I’m not as tired as you are.”

“It’s kinda weird,” Dean said. Cas raised an eyebrow as if wondering why this should bother him.

Dean grunted and got up to dig his toothbrush out of his bag. “I’m not that tired,” he grumbled, padding barefoot into the bathroom. He thought he heard Cas laugh, and smiled softly to himself.

He came out of the bathroom and dropped his toothbrush back into his bag. Pulling his handgun from the waistband of his jeans, he slipped it under his pillow, removed a few of his layers, and looked around. The shades were still open, so he crossed the room to shut them. Cas’s eyes followed him serenely as he bustled around the room. He had already tucked himself neatly into his bed, and looked way more comfortable than anyone who wasn’t planning on sleeping had a right to look. Dean shut the light off, crawled onto his own bed, and pulled the blankets up over his shoulder.

Just enough light came through the shuttered windows from the lamps outside that Dean could see Cas’s outline in the dark. The angel’s head was tilted back, his eyes open. As tired as he was, Dean knew he couldn’t fall asleep yet.

“You gonna watch tv?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Night tv is way better than daytime tv.”

“I know, Dean.” His tone was endlessly patient.

“But if it’s _Untouchables_ again, you wake me,” he said, trying to sound stern, but slurring a few of the words.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” Cas said, a smile in his voice.

Dean grunted, shifting his arm under his ear. “You did good tonight,” he said sleepily.

“Thank you. So did you.”

Dean smiled into his pillow. “That’s what I call ‘good teamwork.’”

“Go to sleep before you say something too meaningful,” Cas said. Wise words, really. This half-awake state was way too truthful.

“Good thing the tv’s closer to your bed,” he mumbled.

“Good night, Dean.”

“Good night, Cas.”

He dreamed that he was on an airplane with Mom. She was trying to get her in-flight tv to work, but it was only showing an empty bed. With a jolt, he realized it was Sam’s bed at the bunker. But he calmed down when he saw Mom carrying three-year-old Sam toward it. She put him in bed and kissed baby Sam’s forehead.

“Love you, Sammy,” she whispered.

The airplane vanished as Dean crawled up into bed to kiss his brother, too. He was seven, but his tiny hands were gentle when he touched Sam’s cheek.

“Tomorrow we’ll play ninjas,” he promised baby Sammy, and they both grinned.

Mary scooped him up off Sam’s bed and kissed his cheek.

“Love you, Sammy!” Dean called as they left.

Cas was waiting outside Sam’s door. He was five or six, his blue eyes wide with tears. Dean squirmed until Mom set him down.

“What’s the matter, Cas?” he asked, hugging his friend.

But Cas only sniffled and Mom took each of their hands. “Come on, you two,” she said gently. “Time for bed.”

She led them through the bunker’s library, where Bobby was sitting with Charlie and Kevin. Charlie was doing a card trick. It made Dean excited, and he pulled away from Mom to get a closer look. Cas grabbed his hand.

“We’re going to bed,” he said conspiratorially, and Dean nodded, glancing at Mom, but she had sat down at the table with the others, and Dean didn’t want her to have to get back up. So he and Cas tip-toed down the hallway.

Still holding Dean’s hand, Cas pushed open the door to Dean’s room, but it wasn’t his room anymore. It was a motel room with a pretty blue rug and Cas was older. Dean was older too, no longer his seven-year-old self. He jerked to a halt and Cas turned to look at him.

“Dean?” he asked, his endless eyes concerned. Dean swallowed. He had forgotten something important. There was something he needed to tell Cas. But he couldn’t remember.

He squeezed his friend’s hand tighter, wishing this wasn’t so hard. Wishing Cas knew what he wanted to say, even if he didn’t have the guts to say it.

Cas took a step toward him, his head tilted to the side and his eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s the matter?” he asked slowly, his hand clutching Dean’s tighter.

Dean jolted awake with his mind racing and ‘ _I love you_ ’ stuck in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about [The Untouchables](http://hekate1308.tumblr.com/post/151130359652/for-your-consideration), courtesy of the wonderful [Hekate1308](http://hekate1308.tumblr.com).  
> Another note about [Eliot Ness and George Stone](http://ordered---chaos.tumblr.com/post/151642101432/eliot-ness-and-george-stone-from-the-untouchables).  
> The Untouchables is a great movie. Many Destiel parallels. ;)


	20. As They Say

Dean stared at Cas, who stared straight back. It was daylight, but Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away to check the time. He felt like he was trapped, spinning. His breaths sounded absurdly loud in his cotton-stuffed ears. There was a pounding throughout his whole body that was way too fast to be his heart, too alien and too confident. He shivered. He wanted to burrow into the covers and never come out. He wanted to jump out of bed and demand why Cas was watching him. He wanted to cry, and laugh, and run, and go back to sleep.

His phone rang a second time. Dean jumped. His heart began to slow. He took a deep breath, trying to force his stomach to unclench. That was what had woken him. That was why Cas was now sitting up, looking at Dean with concern. He took a deep breath.

“You going to answer that?” Cas asked.

Dean reached for it. The screen said ‘Sam calling.’ He thumbed over it and put it on speaker.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gruff with sleep.

“You’re still asleep?” Sam asked, laughing.

“What do you want, bitch?” Dean said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Maybe I should call back when you’ve had your coffee, jerk.”

“Did you find the kid?”

Sam’s tone sobered. “Yeah. It’s a long story. Trevor’s fine. Recovering from something similar to spirit possession. He’ll be okay.”

“That’s good,” Dean said. “Get him some therapy.”

Sam gave that a short laugh. “What about the demons?”

“Taken care of,” Dean said in a satisfied tone.

“Already? How many were there?”

“Around twenty.”

Sam whistled. “Wow.”

“What can I say?” Dean drawled. “Cas and I get it done.”

Sam went into a suspicious coughing fit that made Dean glare at the phone.

“When are you coming back?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“That’s why I’m calling,” Sam said. “Have you heard anything from the angels?”

Dean glanced at Cas, who said, “I would let you know immediately. There’s been no news.”

“I was wondering,” Sam began awkwardly, “if it’d be okay if Mom and I stay in England for a few days? Since we’re already here, I figure—”

“Yeah,” Dean said immediately. “Yeah, that’s actually a good idea.”

“Really?” Sam said. “You’re okay with it?”

“Yeah. Have fun. Tell Mom we say hi.”

“Okay,” Sam said, sounding confused. “What are you guys doing?”

“Call us when you come back,” Dean said, and hung up.

Cas frowned at him. “You didn’t say ‘bye.’”

“What are you, my mom?” Dean grumbled, going into the bathroom.

When he came out, Cas had thrown the shades open and was watching the parking lot. It was around ten in the morning, and Dean could see a maid bustling around the other side of the motel. He suddenly realized that Cas had removed his trenchcoat. He cleared his throat, feeling awkward. Cas turned around.

“What are we going to do today?” Cas asked at the same time that Dean said, “Wanna just hang out today?”

They both stopped.

Dean cleared his throat again. “What’d you say?”

“Just hang out?” Cas asked.

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, just stay in pajamas and just watch tv and stuff,” he said. “We can order pizza.”

Cas frowned for a long moment, then looked down at his dress shirt and slacks. “Can I borrow some pajamas?”

“Uh, sure.”

He found Cas some clothes and rummaged aimlessly in his duffel bag while he changed. Cas looked even more naked in Dean’s slightly too-long pants and old black T-shirt. He looked at Dean, unsure what to do next.

“Let’s watch tv,” Dean said, because any more of this awkward silence would probably kill him.

He hit the button and sat on the end of Cas’s bed. It was closer to the tv. After a pause, Cas sat stiffly beside him. Dean couldn’t focus on the program. His mind was elsewhere, wrapped up in itself, in the dream it had given him. The dream that had ended in this room, where Cas was holding his hand and staring into his eyes. The same sort of dream he’d had in other motel rooms, other beds, since…well, for a long time now.

“Dean?” Cas said, breaking Dean out of his own thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“You seem very relaxed.”

“Yeah?”

“It is unusual.”

He chucked. “S’not a bad thing. You could relax a bit more.” He tugged at Cas’s arm to indicate his stiff posture.

Cas rolled his shoulders. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

Was he happy? Was that the right word? A wave of guilt washed through him suddenly. He hadn’t worried about Dad since last night. He was still out there, being tortured, and Dean was spending a lazy day watching tv with Cas.

“Now you’re not happy,” Cas said. “What did I say wrong?”

Dean shook his head. “S’not you, Cas. Don’t worry. It’s just…. Dad.”

The angel nodded, his eyes fierce. “We’ll find him, Dean. As soon as Nakir finds something, she’ll let us know.”

“I know. But still. He’s….”

“I know.” Cas sat perfectly still. Dean wished Mom was here to put her arm around him. Then he felt stupid for wanting such a silly comfort. He’d gotten by without that kind of reassurance for 33 years. It would be pointless to start relying on her now.

“Let’s talk about something else,” he said, gesturing at the tv. “What is this?” It was a crappy show about models preparing for some gig. He changed the channel.

“Are you hungry?” Cas asked. “I can order pizza.”

“Starving,” Dean said, trying to get himself to relax again as the angel got up to get his phone from the bedside table. He listened to Cas placing the order and wondered when he’d learned to do that. There was nothing at all on tv, so he turned the volume down and laid back against the bed. Cas hung up the phone. Dean held a hand up to block the sunlight falling on his face.

“The pizza will be here in half an hour,” Cas announced.

Dean nodded lazily. “Do me a favor? Move just a couple inches…. There. That’s perfect.” He shut his eyes, letting his hand fall back onto the bed. The coolness of Cas’s shadow fell on his face.

Cas gave a dry laugh. “I’m not going to stand here and block the sunlight for you.”

The bed dipped as he sat down, and sunlight glared red through Dean’s eyelids. He scrunched his face up, but before he could complain, the shade returned.

He opened his eyes. Cas was sitting beside him, casting his shadow over Dean’s upper body. His head was lit from behind by warm light. Dean could see individual dark hairs glowing as though they were giving off their own heat. He imagined it was Cas’s halo. Cas was holding his gaze, staring back at him with that rapt, intense stare Dean had grown to expect from him. He didn’t know how long they’d been staring at each other.

“Thanks,” he breathed, and didn’t understand why it hadn’t come out stronger, like he’d meant it to. It would be so easy to just reach out… pull Cas down toward him… kiss him.

“Of course,” Cas said. He tore his eyes away and looked at the screen. Dean watched his profile. Now his whole face was glowing. Dean wondered if his hair would be warm to the touch.

He sighed and put his arm behind his head so he could see the tv better.

When the pizza arrived about forty minutes later, they were talking about small things. How hungry Dean was. What lame, touristy things Sam and Mary were doing in England. How badass Eliot Ness was. How the pizza was late. How weird it was that two sisters had basically Parent-Trapped them into staying here.

The knock at the door jolted Dean back to the real world. His stomach growled and he jumped up from Cas’s bed to get it. The box smelled like Heav—well, it smelled awesome. Dean brought it back to the bed, his mouth watering.

“Want some?” he asked through his first giant mouthful.

Cas hesitated, then shrugged, picked up a piece, and took a bite. He grimaced and sighed. “Pizza was so good when I was human….”

“What’s it like on angel taste buds?” Dean asked curiously.

“Molecules,” he answered.

Dean choked a little. “What do molecules taste like?”

Cas thought for a moment. He took another bite. “Dry.”

They laughed and shared another silence. Cas was still eating his piece.

“You don’t have to eat that if it’s gross,” Dean said, wiping his face.

“I don’t want to waste it.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean said carelessly, taking a crunchy bite of crust. “I’ll have it.”

He might be more concerned if it was Sam or Crowley, but he highly doubted Cas was carrying any germs or anything.

Cas put the piece down in the box and said, “Thanks.”

Dean grinned. “More for me.” He winked. Cas looked away.

“So,” the angel said after a long, comfortable pause. “How long do we have before you start going stir-crazy?”

“If you’re wondering when I’ll get the axe, don’t worry,” Dean said. “I’m more of a hammer guy.”

Cas gave a small laugh. Dean wondered if he’d ever heard him laugh so much in one day before. He didn’t think so.

“Maybe we should go get a movie to watch,” Cas suggested. “Since there’s nothing on tv.”

“We could have a marathon!” Dean said excitedly. Then he realized how stupidly happy he’d gotten. He cleared his throat, looking away.

“I would like to see Lord of the Rings for myself,” said Cas thoughtfully. “I only have Metatron’s plot synopsis.”

“Oh, dude. Not seeing Lord of the Rings is an actual crime,” Dean told him. “Forget everything that asshole told you. You just hafta see it for yourself.”

Cas gave him another small smile, and Dean was doing the math in his head. “If we start now, we might even get some sleep tonight.”

“We don’t have the movies,” Cas pointed out.

So when Dean finished eating (three slices, including the one Cas started, just to prove to him that he didn’t mind angel-cooties), they set out for the local library. It was half an hour away even with Dean’s driving, and then Cas insisted on doing things the right way by signing up for a library card instead of just stealing the movies like Dean wanted (“We’d bring them back, Cas. No one’d know”). When they finally got to the shelf, it turned out someone had checked out the extended edition of Two Towers. The theatrical version was still there, but Dean wanted Cas to have the full experience. So they checked out the first and third movies, then drove to the library in the next town over, where thankfully they had it, and thankfully, Cas’s new card worked. On the way back, they stopped for snack foods, because no movie marathon was complete without filling yourself up with junk. Food. Junk food.

Which meant that by the time they got back to the motel, it was almost two. Dean set up the first disk while Cas waited patiently, and then they sat side-by-side against the headboard. Again, Dean found himself more fascinated by Cas’s expressions than the movie itself.

When Dean got up to change the disk, Cas suggested that they get some real food, so that he didn’t have to keep snacking constantly.

“Dude, that’s what’s fun about it,” Dean said. “I’ll eat healthier tomorrow.”

“No you won’t.”

“Healthi _er_ ,” he said, stressing the last syllable. “Healthi _er_.”

Cas laughed, and Dean flopped back onto the bed, nudging him with his shoulder.

They finished the last movie around three in the morning. They’d gotten held up between the second and third just talking, and Dean had been reluctant to interrupt the conversation to switch the disk. But three wasn’t really as late as Dean had expected. Somehow, in his mind, marathons always ended at four or five. So he was perfectly content to let the final credits scroll lazily past.

Empty snack bags littered the floor at the foot of the bed. He and Cas were both lying on their stomachs, facing the tv with their feet up by the headboard. Dean had a pillow scrunched under his chest. Cas had needed a bit of prompting to lie down, but eventually he had. Dean could feel the heat of him all along the side of his body, but there was still a good few inches between them.

As the credits finished and the DVD went back to the title screen, Cas turned to look at him. The only light in the room was coming from the tv, and it gave Cas an ethereal, shadowy profile. Dean grinned.

“What’d you think?” he asked, not moving.

“I’m glad I’ve seen them for myself,” Cas said, glancing back toward their feet. His eyes asked a silent question that Dean ignored. He wasn’t ready to get up yet.

“Well, Metatron’s favorite character was probably Sauron, or something,” Dean huffed. He reached down to scratch his knee absently, brushing against Cas on the way. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Have you ever marathoned them all before?”

“Once. With Sam. I think it was on Christmas. Or Valentine’s. No, probably not Valentine’s, actually.” He laid his head on his arm, frowning. “Must’ve been Christmas….”

“Are you going to sleep?”

“I should probably get the tv…” he muttered.

The bed swayed a bit as Cas waved a hand. Dean raised his head as the tv shut itself off. Cas folded his arm neatly back under his chest.

“Thanks,” Dean said, closing his eyes. He’d clean everything up in the morning….

“This is my bed, Dean,” Cas said softly. “You will be more comfortable in your own.”

Dean opened his eyes again. “Do you mind?” he asked. He’d move if Cas wanted him to, of course, but he was already here, and warm.

“I don’t mind,” Cas said, sounding a bit mollified. “Don’t you want your personal space?”

Dean hesitated, meeting his eyes, and experienced a random, startling moment of clarity. Cas had been so careful, for so long. Trying to learn how to act human, how to act like he thought Dean wanted him to. Suddenly, Dean saw how much Cas worried about it. About not behaving too strangely. About making sure he did things—not just right, but human. He wondered how much effort he had to put into his constant act.

He inched closer to the heat that was Cas’s body. “Nah,” he said, trying to calm his racing heart. “This is perfect. As long as it’s okay?”

“It is, Dean.” Cas’s voice was quiet and low, the tone you use to speak to a nervous animal or a fussy baby.

Dean nudged him playfully with his hip. “Awesome. Night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

He lay quite relaxed, feeling the subtle movements of Cas’s body beside him. It had been a long time since he’d slept next to anyone. There were only a handful of people he would ever have felt comfortable sleeping beside. Sleep was too vulnerable, too soft. He wondered when he had started feeling like Cas was the safest place he could be. Had it been recently?

He’d never had a whole lot of time to just hang out with him. Safety was something so rare in a hunter’s life. Extremes were more common; life-or-death situations in which he screamed for his friend and begged him to be okay. He’d do that for anyone, really. For Sam, now for Mom. For fellow hunters in danger beside him, or any of the people he’d made it his mission to save. Necessity made him care about them, and bound them in that place of desperate reliance and undeniable need.

But in times of peace, like now? There were only a handful of people Dean enjoyed spending quiet moments with. His whole life, it had been Sam. Sam was the one he knew he’d stay with no matter what the situation. Hell, he would have followed Sam to college if Dad hadn’t needed him. Found a job as a mechanic or a janitor or something, just so he could keep hanging around his little brother. But Dad had needed him. So Dean had stayed. Not out of choice, but out of duty.

There were very few people Dean had ever chosen in his life.

He opened his eyes. Cas was still propped on his elbows, his gaze fixed on his clasped hands. Dean watched him in the dark, looking at the soft glow of his hair from the streetlight outside the curtain. He wondered why Cas’s lip was pouting out like that, why there was a frown on his face. What was he thinking about?

Dean thought for a long time. He lost track of the things he thought about. He just knew that they were all Cas. He took a long, slow breath.

Cas looked around, realizing that Dean was watching him. His lips parted, about to ask a question as their eyes connected. Dean reached out, putting a hand on his back, wanting to feel the solidness of him, to reassure himself that he was really awake. That he wasn't going to wake up in the car on some lonely hunt.

“Cas?” he whispered. His voice sounded strange, muted by the darkness and the weight in his throat.

Cas frowned, inviting the rest of the question with a look.

“You gonna be here? Forever?”

“In this motel room? No. Probably not.”

Dean gave a breathy laugh. “Not _here-_ here. I meant—” The words jammed. The calm that had reassured him just moments ago felt like it was draining away.

“What did you mean?” Cas asked, his voice just as tentative as Dean’s. Something was happening, and they both knew it. They were walking on a narrow bridge, and unless one of them fell, this could only go one place.

“I meant—” Dean cleared his throat, glancing down toward their feet, nestled against the headboard. He propped himself up on one elbow, gesturing inarticulately at the gentle places where their bodies touched. “Here.”

Cas looked to where Dean was pointing. He tilted his head, and caught Dean’s weakly gesturing hand. “Here?” he asked, his eyes suddenly wide.

Dean smiled, gripping Cas’s hand tighter. “Yeah. Here.”

“Do you want me to be?” His tone was so confused, so worried, that Dean suddenly felt the same confidence that made him a good hunter. The same certainty that gave him the strength to issue orders in a crisis.

“Yeah,” he said. “Cas, I—” He stopped, tearing his eyes away. This was it. The end of the bridge. His chest felt strange, and he knew in that moment, now that they were here, that he could fall, or he could leap.

“Dean, wait,” Cas said. He pulled his hand away. Dean felt as though the ground had been yanked from beneath him. The bridge was breaking, falling, plummeting. Cas sat up, shaking his head. He stood up and turned the light on. Dean blinked rapidly, squinting as he sat up. Cas fidgeted by the switch, his eyes flicking restlessly between each of Dean’s.

“Cas?” Dean made a placating gesture. He was aware of how close Cas was to the door, and his heart was beating in terror that he was about to leave, to disappear like he always had.

“Dean, I— I don’t know if— You— Please don’t— If this is—” He couldn’t compose a complete thought, and with the new light, Dean could see that Cas’s shoulders were hunched in on himself. He looked like he wanted very much to just crawl into a hole and vanish forever. It made Dean feel so impossibly guilty. He’d been about to put so much pressure on Cas, when the poor guy was already putting so much on himself. He hated himself for making Cas look that dejected.

He got off the bed and walked to him. “It’s okay.” He hugged him tight, pulling Cas’s chin against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Pretend this never happened.” He rubbed his back. “Please—Please just don’t go.”

“I never want to.”

The words surprised him. Dean smoothed his hand over Cas’s borrowed T-shirt. “What?”

Cas pressed his forehead against Dean’s shoulder. He was shaking. “Dean,” he said, and it sounded like his heart was breaking. Dean had never wanted to hurt Cas like this.

He stepped back, almost letting go of him, panic rising in his chest. “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s okay, Cas. It’s fine. I didn’t—” He wanted desperately to comfort him, to make some clever remark that would bring that gentle smile back to Cas’s miserable face. But he didn’t understand, and he didn’t want to make things worse. “I’m sorry.”

Cas steeled himself, stiffening in Dean’s hug. “I never want to leave your side again,” he said forcefully. He winced, then met Dean’s eyes with an expression like someone expecting a blow. “Is that— Is that alright?”

Dean opened his mouth, and closed it again, and realized that his hands were sweating against Cas’s back. He loosened his grip, letting his hand slide until it was resting on Cas’s shoulder. He raised the other to touch Cas’s cheek.

“That’s what I was going to ask you to do,” he said gruffly. “Cas, I—”

Cas kissed him. It was gentle and unsure. Just a touch of his lips against Dean’s. But Dean felt like Cas had shoved him against the wall and sucked the air straight out of his lungs. He gasped when Cas pulled away, and opened eyes he hadn’t known he’d closed. Open-mouthed and panting, he stared at Cas, who backed up a step, confusion and worry in his eyes. Dean’s hands fell limply at his sides. Cas started to speak, but Dean stepped toward him, holding his gaze, a question in his eyes. He moved slowly, and whatever Cas had been about to say seemed to dry up. He stared at Dean, and tilted his head back as he came close.

Dean cupped the back of Cas’s neck when he kissed him. His hair was soft and as warm as though the sun was still shining through it. He could feel Cas trembling, but the tremors mixed with his own, and he knew that they were okay. He didn’t push the kiss. This one was as chaste as the first. _Their first kiss._ Again, it took Dean’s breath away. He put his hand on Cas’s shoulder, the way he had so often before, but this time, he realized what it meant. Cas’s arms wrapped around Dean’s back, pulling him closer, and he melted willingly forward. The kiss grew and Dean felt more lightheaded. He hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time. He’d never kissed anyone like Cas.

He pulled back, separating them. There was a hopeless, goofy smile on his face. And impossibly, Cas returned it, a bit more shy, but his eyes were alight with happiness, the uncertainty gone. Dean stepped into the circle of his arms, pressing his chest against Cas’s and pulling them together as though they could just melt into each other. He wished they could.

Then he yawned. Cas laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“Mood killer,” Dean mumbled.

“It is quite late,” the angel pointed out. His tone was lighter and happier than Dean had ever heard it. He smiled.

“Come on,” Cas said. He guided them toward the bed, pulling back the covers. Dean got under them and held them up, waiting for Cas to join him. Cas went back for the lights before crawling in next to Dean. He shifted until he was pressed against Dean’s body, curled on his side. Dean smiled and wrapped his arm around him.

“Good night, Dean.”

He laughed. “Good night, Cas.”

It was so normal. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t freaking out about this. He already knew that he and Cas would never leave each other’s sides. Giving in to this felt…right. Harmless. True. The one person he knew for certain he would always want to be with, without any sense of compulsion. The one person he knew he would always—

Dean’s eyes snapped open. “Cas?”

“Hmm?” Dean could hear the smile.

“I, uh—” He’d been so ready to say it before. He pulled closer to Cas.

“I know, Dean.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grunted, angry with himself. “I’m not a wuss.”

Cas laughed. He wriggled around under Dean’s arm until he was facing him. “You, Dean Winchester, are definitely not a wuss.”

Somehow, looking at his eyes made it easier. “I love you,” Dean said, and something in his throat loosened.

“I know.”

Dean glared at him. “Don’t you Han Solo me,” he said with mock irritation, and Cas laughed.

“I’m sorry.” He leaned closer, and touched their lips together shyly. “I love you, Dean.”

“Damn straight,” Dean said. He smiled. “Night.”

“Good night, Dean. I love you.”

“I love you, Cas.” He relaxed, the warmth of the body beside him spreading through his soul like a touch of Grace. He smiled in the darkness.

[|][|][|]

Sam and Mary came back from England two days later. They’d had an excellent time, but Sam was pretty annoyed with Dean. For the past couple of days, it had been almost impossible to get him on the phone. He’d sent a few almost incoherent texts in response to Sam’s voicemails, and used a couple of code words so that Sam knew everything was okay, but still, would it kill him to answer his phone?

“What are they even doing?” Sam complained, staring down at his phone. He’d just left another aggravated voicemail. He and Mary were in the airport, waiting for their flight, and if Dean didn’t call back soon, they’d have no way of getting in touch with him before they landed.

“Your brother and Cas have been hanging out just the two of them in a motel for a couple of days,” Mary said serenely. “You probably don’t want to know what they’ve been doing.”

“Aw, gross!” Sam complained. “I did not want to think about that, Mom.”

She grinned. “I’m happy for them.”

Sam matched her expression.

“Out of curiosity,” she said. “How long has it been going on?”

“The pining, the unresolved sexual tension, or the emotional constipation?” Sam asked.

Mary sighed. “All of the above?”

“Too long. Way too long.”

“I’m sorry you had to live with that.”

“Me too, Mom.” He grinned, sitting back in his plastic airport seat. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be actual plot next chapter. :P


	21. The First To Let Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance. <3

Dean finally did check his messages, so he and Cas met Sam and Mary at the airport in Oklahoma City. They all had stories to tell each other, but Dean waited until they were all piled in the car to say, casually, “Cas and I are together.”

“I’m so happy for both of you,” Mary said immediately.

“Go to Hell,” Sam told them both cheerfully.

“Sam,” Mary chided.

“You didn’t have to deal with the lovesick staring for eight years!” Sam exclaimed.

“Shut up,” Dean said, his ears burning. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was pretty bad, Dean,” said Cas in the passenger seat. They shared a smile that seemed to warm the car.

“Oh great,” Sam complained. “We’re gonna have to deal with this now, aren’t we?”

Mary patted his shoulder. “Think of London.”

The trip back toward the cabin was one of the happiest car rides Dean had ever had. Everyone was happy and talkative, even Cas. They told stories and Cas gave Mary every detail of him and Dean finally opening up to each other. Sam made fake gagging noises that Dean told him repeatedly to go shove up his ass. The ride was enjoyable enough to diminish the fact that they were heading back to the Devil himself.

Dean parked the car on the gravel driveway in front of the cabin.

“Here we go,” he said cheerfully, turning her off and clambering out. He stretched his back with several satisfying pops; it had been a long drive.

They grabbed their bags and headed inside.

“Lucifer?” Dean called. “You here?”

The answer came as a muffled groan. Dean dropped his bag and jerked his handgun out of his waistband, pointing it at the island counter in the kitchen. Mary was right behind him, her shotgun raised. With a look, she and Dean split up, heading in opposite directions around the island. Sam and Cas came in, saw what was happening, and reached for their own weapons. Sam nudged the door shut.

Dean crept around the island. First he saw booted feet, splayed on the ground; bloody pants torn and crusty; a limp hand holding a pistol.

“Dad?”

Dean lowered his gun, stepping closer. Mary was keeping John in her sights, but Dean needed to check for signs of life. John was slumped against the island, gun in his lap and head hanging low. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t stained in blood. To get that much out of him, Adam must have been having Michael heal him, unless they hadn’t bothered to keep him alive.

Dean knelt beside his father, reaching for his neck. The pulse there was weak but steady. John had always been a tough son of a bitch.

“Dad?” Sam asked. He and Cas approached now, lowering their weapons.

“Dean, get away from him,” Mary said.

Dean looked up at her. It wasn’t an order. He could hear the fear in her voice; she was as much begging as asking. He backed away.

“He’s alive?” Sam asked, looking at John’s bloody form. Dean nodded.

“Cas, can you see any angel or demon in him?” he asked, mouth dry.

Cas shook his head. “But if he’s possessed, it’s possible I wouldn’t see.”

Dean nodded and reached for Cas’ angel blade. They traded, Cas checking the safety on Dean’s gun and holding it ready. Sam glanced at the door, but it was still firmly shut.

Dean knelt, feeling everyone tense as he brought the blade to John’s forearm and drew a line of blood. The cut stayed normal. No Grace-light seeped out, nor the orange flickering of a wounded demon. Dean sighed in relief.

John groaned. The sharp new pain had roused him. He lifted his gun before he managed to open his eyes.

“Dad, it’s me,” Dean said before he could start panicking. “You’re okay.”

Behind him, Mary snapped into action mode. “Sam, Cas, we need to fortify the house. If he escaped, they could be right behind him. Where’s Lucifer?”

“I’ll contact him,” said Cas, stepping out of the way as Sam moved past with a can of salt.

Dean patted down John’s arms and legs, feeling for breaks. There were a lot of cuts, and John was so out of it from pain and blood loss that he made a small noise of protest at the pressure, but he didn’t find anything more serious than his dislocated shoulder.

“Come on, Dad,” Dean said, lifting John’s left arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get you to the couch.”

He hauled John up, ignoring his groan of pain, and they started an unsteady trek to the couch. The gun clattered to the ground. John could barely seem to hold his head up, and Sam ducked in to help Dean support him. They laid him gently on the couch and stepped back. He looked up at them.

“Hey, Dad,” Dean said slowly. “Just hang on. We’ll get you all set.”

He turned to Cas, who was standing with his brow furrowed in concentration, muttering.

“Dean,” Sam called to him, and tossed him another can of salt.

Dad was stable for now. They had to make sure they’d be safe for long enough to treat him. Dean took the can of salt into the bedroom, pouring thick lines in front of the windows. Then he shut the door and laid another line in front of it.

Then he turned around, and said, “Dad?”

John was on his feet. He was standing with his shoulders hunched, his back streaked with blood. His arms were bent in front of him, either to touch his chest or clasp his hands together. Dean started to rush to him, because it looked like Dad was swaying on his feet. The others had turned at Dean’s shout. Sam was closest. His expression of confusion turned to horror when he saw what John was doing.

“No!” he shouted as Dean rounded the couch and got a good look for himself.

John was unbuttoning his shirt. His bloody hands were quite steady in the delicate work. His head was bowed, intent and ignoring everything else. As though nothing they were doing mattered. As though they couldn’t hurt him either way. A network of cuts spanned his torso. They had been covered by the shirt, but now that it was unbuttoned, Dean could see a pattern. A large circle, with smaller cuts mapped out on his skin, blurred together by the mess of blood running between them.

But it was unmistakably a sigil.

“No, stop!” Dean yelled. But he didn’t. Dad—no, Michael—pressed a steady hand to his chest and the gruesome spell turned the color of flame. Light filled the room and Dean staggered backward with the force of it. Strong arms grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. His face pressed against a warm trenchcoat and he shut his eyes, letting the storm of energy pass. Cas’ arms loosened.

Dean turned around. Michael stood in front of the couch, wearing John’s battered body. His wounds were still seeping, and he seemed unsteady on his feet.

Adam stood beside him.

“Good job, Michael,” he said, smiling at the Winchesters. “Now kill Castiel while I say hello to my brothers.”

Dean stepped forward, blocking Cas from Michael’s sightline and holding up his gun. “These bullets are made of angel blade,” he bluffed. “Take one step and I’ll shoot you.”

“Maybe rethink that strategy, Dean,” Adam called from where he was facing Sam and Mary. “Michael’s not gonna heal any of that damage we did to him. What you see is what you get.”

Dean swallowed, not lowering the gun. “Dad. You can hear me. You’ve fought off a son of a bitch like him before. Do it now.”

Michael cocked his head, but his eyes stayed empty and cold. Adam laughed.

“Michael.”

Lucifer stood beside Dean. His hands were outstretched toward his brother, almost pleading. Michael froze. Cas stepped up next to Dean, saying, “What took you so long?”

“Shut up,” Lucifer said. He approached Michael slowly. “Brother—”

“Michael, kill him,” Adam ordered.

Dean thought he saw something like distress flash into Michael’s eyes—his father’s eyes—but before he could be sure, the archangel reassumed his empty expression.

“Michael, you don’t want to kill me,” Lucifer said. Everyone was watching them now. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam reaching tentatively into the back of his jeans. “I can help you. Brother….”

Michael’s angel blade appeared in his hand.

“You don’t have to listen to this ass-monkey,” Lucifer said gently. He and Michael were both approaching each other, taking cautious steps, like neither wanted to be the first one there. “Michael, come on. The Cage wasn’t so bad.”

They stopped a foot or so away from each other. Lucifer was still unarmed, and although Dean wasn’t going to worry about him, he didn’t want to see their most powerful ally shanked before he could help them fight.

Lucifer put his hand on Michael’s upper arm. Not restraining or forceful. Just an innocent, comforting touch. Michael looked at it. He raised his gaze to Lucifer’s eyes.

“Lucifer,” he whispered, and his voice was a shred of uncertainty and fear and pain.

“Michael,” Adam growled, angry and threatening.

The archangel’s eyes widened, distressed, and Lucifer squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about _that_ , Brother. I’ll take care of him.” Ice-cold eyes fixed on Adam, and Dean was fervently thankful that that look had never been directed at him.

Michael stabbed Lucifer. It was sudden, random. The Devil didn’t even flinch. There was agony in Michael’s eyes. He pulled the blade from nowhere and shoved it into Lucifer’s gut. Sam gasped audibly, even over Lucifer’s surprised grunt. His legs weakened and he bent forward. Michael put a hand on the side of his face, their eyes still connected. Lucifer’s hand closed around the hilt of the blade, trying to stop it going any deeper.

“Kill him,” Adam ordered. “Now, Michael.”

But then Cas was moving past Dean. He took two running steps, grabbed Michael by the throat, and tore him bodily away from Lucifer. Dean rushed forward, catching the Devil as he staggered, and dragged him away from the fight. As they reached the wall, Lucifer’s legs gave out and he collapsed, one hand tight against his bleeding stomach.

Dean guided him down as best he could, aware of Cas fighting Michael and Sam rushing in now to help. “Stay here,” he told Lucifer.

He made to get up, but the Devil grabbed his wrist. Dean looked around. Lucifer’s eyes were wide, meeting Dean’s with something between anger and a plea.

“Don’t kill him,” he whispered.

Dean swallowed, clenching his jaw. “We might not have a choice.”

Mary cried out a warning behind him, but Lucifer jerked Dean closer. There was definitely fury in his eyes now. His hand closed around Dean’s neck and it felt like an icepack. Dean wasn’t sure if that was because he was the Devil, or because he was dying.

“Don’t. Kill. Him,” Lucifer said, and the temperature in the cabin dropped noticeably. Dean hoped that demonstration of power meant he wasn’t going to kick it just yet.

Dean pulled away and stood up. “You just heal yourself,” he said, and turned back to the fight.

It wasn’t much of one. Adam was hanging by the door, apparently content to let Michael win or die on his own. He kept glancing at Lucifer. Sam, Mary, and Cas surrounded Michael, each holding an angel blade. Dean’s heart was in his throat; his whole body felt tight and strained. Michael had just taken out Lucifer. They were facing one of the most powerful beings in creation and they stood no chance.

Dean approached the fight, praying as loudly as he could, _Hey, Chuck! Michael’s gone crazy and it’d be nice if you got off your ass and came to help. Lucifer couldn’t beat him. Come talk to him or something. He thinks you abandoned him._

But there was no answering glow from the amulet around his neck. He hadn’t really expected there to be. Chuck had made it perfectly clear that their problems were their own.

So he shifted his grip on the knife and stood next to Cas. It was four on one, as long as Adam didn’t decide to join in. But even those odds didn’t seem so good. Not against the oldest archangel in existence.

Michael turned in a slow circle, looking at them surrounding him. His eyes dropped to Lucifer, who made a small noise behind Dean.

It was a moment of infinite indecision. The Winchesters were waiting, wondering how Michael would attack first; he, in turn, seemed frozen, eyes on his golden brother.

“Michael, kill them,” Adam ordered, his voice harsh.

Michael’s face smoothed over. He crouched and lunged at Cas, his bloody blade high. Cas dodged, catching Michael’s arm against his side. He twisted it around behind his back, forcing him to bend over as he shoved closer. Michael was knocked off balance, taking an involuntary step toward Dean, who threw the strongest punch he could muster at his jaw. Dad was definitely going to feel that one. Michael’s head snapped to the side and he staggered, pulling out of Cas’ grip. His blade traced along Cas’ side, leaving a streak of red on the trenchcoat. Dean didn’t know if it was Cas’ blood or Lucifer’s.

He threw himself on top of Michael, grabbing him by the front of Dad’s shirt and swinging him into the wall. Dean rammed his knee into Michael’s wrist over and over, trying to get him to drop his blade. Michael cried out, shoving Dean clumsily away. His feet left the ground and he came down hard, tripping and falling onto his back. He tucked his head, but the breath was still knocked out of his chest. He heard Cas call his name.

Sam and Cas rushed forward to take his place before Michael could pull himself together. Sam spread his large hands across the angel’s chest to pin him while Cas swung the hand holding his angel blade into the side of Michael’s head. The sound it made was lost behind Mary’s pounding footsteps as she rushed to Sam’s side. She shoved her blade through Michael’s wrist, and this time he did drop his weapon.

It clattered to the floor as he screamed. It was the same tortured, desperate howl he had given last time his blood had been shed, when he had leveled the barn. His eyes began to glow with Grace as he shoved out an arm, pushing Sam so hard he flew back into and through the closed bedroom door. Dean heard the crash and his brother’s yell even as Michael’s scream increased in pitch, becoming deafening. The windows shattered outwards.

The archangel’s eyes were burning white, the light turning his whole face into a blinding mass. He reached for Mary, and the shadows of his broken wings crackled against the wall behind him. Mary blocked with her forearm, knocking his hand away from her face. But even as she did, her whole body tensed with pain. She seemed to glow for a moment, and Dean heard her cry out over the rushing Grace and hurricane of wind inside the house.

“Mom!” he yelled, trying to get up, but buffeted off-balance by the raging energy.

“Mary!”

Cas had lunged forward. He shoved Mary out of the way and she fell hard, not catching herself at all. Cas grabbed Michael’s reaching hand and held on tight. His eyes lit up with his own Grace, his body glowing and Dean saw his tattered wings stretching out away from him. They seemed to arc between Michael and the Winchesters, and the force of the archangel’s Grace lessened.

For a moment it seemed Cas had stopped him. “Brother!” he said. “Let us help you.”

And Michael stared at him, the outline of his wings vanishing from the wall. Dean pushed himself up, glancing at Adam to make sure he wasn’t about to make a move. Dean’s heart stopped. The demon was smiling.

Michael lunged into Cas, bearing him to the ground as another percussion of Grace wracked the cabin. The wooden walls themselves creaked. Dean was knocked over again with an aborted cry. His elbow struck something hard and his hand went numb.

“Cas!” he shouted desperately.

Michael was crouching over Cas, hitting him over and over like a deranged, ferocious animal. There was no sense to the blows, no order, nothing but sheer destructive power. The floorboards under them shattered. Cas tried to call upon his Grace to help him; his eyes lit up and he caught one of Michael’s descending fists. But it wasn’t enough.

Michael plunged his other hand into Cas’ chest. Cas screamed, back arching off the broken floor, hips turning, trying desperately to shake Michael off. The archangel’s wings shadowed the ceiling again and he ripped his hand free of Cas’ body. His hand was shining with blood. The wound glowed, giving off a blinding, strobing light that made Dean’s eyes water. But he couldn’t look away. He had to look at Cas. Terrified.

Cas had gone still, dropping Michael’s arm. The archangel renewed his attack, lifting his bloodstained hand to hit Cas again. Dean didn’t realize he was on his feet until he collided with him. He dove over Cas’ body— _not dead, he’s not dead—_ and dragged Michael to the floor. The heat of the archangel’s Grace hit him full force. His whole body felt like it had been shoved in a hot bath. But it was bearable. Michael tried to grab him, his face distorted by fury, but Dean punched him. He punched him as many times as he’d punched Cas.

And then Sam was there, and an angel blade appeared in beside Dean’s head. Michael’s blade, that he had dropped when Mary stabbed him. The one weapon that could kill him.

Dean grabbed it. Michael tried to struggle, but Dean punched him with his other hand, pinning him to the ground with his knees. Cas was motionless on the floor behind him, and Dean couldn’t tell if the tickling on his face was blood or sweat or tears. He lifted the blade.

“No!” Lucifer yelled behind him. “Please!”

It shouldn’t have made Dean pause, but it did. Lucifer was the most evil being in the universe, the one who had caused years of agony for him and Sam and so many others, the one who had tormented Cas, the one who had never done anything that should make Dean even _think_ about listening to him. And he was pleading for Michael. The son of a bitch who had pursued Dean for years. The maniac who had been willing to destroy the world because he thought that was what his father wanted. The angel who might have just killed Cas.

But Dean did hesitate. He paused because suddenly it was Sam lying beneath him, his face bloody and his eyes afraid. It was Dean slumped wounded against the wall, begging him not to hurt his brother. It was some monster crouching in Dean’s place, about to destroy this part of Dean’s family.

He hesitated too long. Michael’s fist slammed into his side so hard he was thrown off him, hitting the cracked wall. The blade skittered away into the darkness at the edges of his vision.

Michael climbed to his feet like a drunk man. But the storm of Grace was receding. He seemed calmer, in control. He lifted a hand toward Sam where he stood crouched defensively in front of Dean, and Sam was thrown sideways. He crashed into the ground near Lucifer, leaving Michael’s path to Dean clear. The archangel turned angry eyes to Dean, reaching out for him. Dean tried to get up, but his chest was full of splinters of broken rib, and he couldn’t make his head stop spinning.

And then Mary was between them. She looked as unsteady as the archangel, breathing hard and shivering. She held his angel blade in a shaking hand between them. Dean made a fearful sound, reaching for her. _Not Mom. Please, not Mom, too._

“Michael,” Mary said. “Listen to me.”

He stayed perfectly still, considering.

“You never had a mother,” Mary said, her voice soft and soothing. “I can help you, Michael.”

“Don’t bother!” Adam shouted, that ugly smile still plastered on his face. “He doesn’t need anything but a master. Michael, kill her!”

Michael stepped casually forward and shoved Mary against the wall. They were so close to Dean, just above him, but he couldn’t get up to help. Michael yanked the blade out of Mary’s hand and just as calmly pressed it to her throat.

“Do it,” Adam ordered.

Mary was staring into Michael’s eyes, her expression fierce.

“Mom,” Dean groaned.

“You’re gonna kill me?” Mary asked. “John? You’re gonna let him kill me? After everything?”

Michael froze, tilting his head to the side. His eyes scrunched up, and he opened his mouth as if to ask a question.

Then he staggered backward. The blade slid between his fingers and clattered to the floor. He bent double, giving a low, wounded cry. He fell to his knees and then looked up. And when he did, his eyes were John Winchester’s, full of the pain of his injuries and the struggle of suppressing an archangel. He coughed, and blood coated his lips.

“Mary,” he croaked.

“Cast him out!” Mary shouted. “Now, John!”

Adam had one hand on the door, but he yelled, “Michael! Destroy him!”

John’s body went taut; he was shaking as he knelt in front of Mary. She stared at him, then slid down to join him on the ground. Her left hand cupped his face while her right hand reached for the dropped archangel blade.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, staring into his eyes.

There was a sudden blast of cold air. Dean turned his eyes to where Lucifer lay against the wall, but he wasn’t there anymore. He had staggered to his feet, one hand plugging up the bloody, still-healing hole in his stomach. He paused for a moment as if to gather his strength, and then lunged at Michael. As he tackled him to the ground there was a flash of Grace-light so intense Dean had to press his face into his arm to keep his eyes from burning. The ringing vibrations of angel voice pressed him back into the wall until he cried out, and was unable to hear his own yell.

Then the light was gone. He opened his streaming eyes and saw Mary sitting shell-shocked against the wall above him. John was lying facedown on the floor, his wounds leaking blood. There wasn’t a trace of Michael or Lucifer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm about to upload the next chapter because I don't believe in cliffhangers. Please bear with me.


	22. What Family Means

Adam screamed in fury as the archangels disappeared. The sound made Dean’s bones shake and his pounding heart kick up a notch. Michael was gone, but Adam was now more or less unchallenged. Dean couldn’t fight with his ribs in this many pieces. Cas was still motionless on the floor, and Dean couldn’t bear to look at him, to check if there was still Grace pouring from the wound in his chest. Sam and Mary were both dazed, but they jolted to their senses at the sound of Adam’s anger.

Mary turned to Dean, taking in his condition. “Stay there,” she said firmly. “Sam and I will take care of him.” She glanced at Cas and her eyes hardened. “Take care of Cas if you can.” She squeezed his shoulder and stood up, moving toward Adam, who was still seething.

“I’m looking forward to draining every drop of blood from your bodies,” Adam snarled, his eyes turning full black.

“Have fun with that,” Mary said.

Sam limped toward Michael’s angel blade, which he had apparently dropped when Lucifer tackled him.

“I don’t think so, Sam,” Adam said, his tone as dark as his eyes. He pointed at the blade and it flew toward him, flipping in the air so that he could deftly catch it. “I think I’ll take that, thanks.”

“Adam,” Sam said, glancing at Cas. His face was determined. “Let us cure you. We can all be a family.”

“Hah!” the demon said. “Family? You think I want to be a Winchester?”

“Regardless,” Mary said firmly. “This is your last chance, Adam. Think about what you were.”

“What I was,” he began, flicking black eyes to her face, “was a weak little pawn. I’ve outgrown that.” He twirled the blade, listening to it sing as it cut the air.

“Adam, we don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said, his eyes as soft as he could make them. “Please. I know what you went through—”

“No you don’t,” Adam snapped. He smiled, the lurid, haunting expression of a nightmare. “You really don’t.”

He walked toward where they stood in the center of the room, still with that horrible look on his face. He held the blade casually, as though he had a million times.

“It’s very interesting,” he said as he approached, inspecting the tip of the knife. “Torturing an archangel. They’re not as tough as you’d think. Or at least, Michael isn’t. I didn’t have to do very much before he joined me.” He looked up at them. “I think I’ll go for Lucifer next time. Now that I know his weakness is his brother.”

“Good luck with that,” Sam said, snorting. He crouched a little, preparing himself for a fight.

Mary lunged first. As soon as Adam took one more step, she sprang toward him, fingers splayed into claws to compensate for her lack of weapon. Adam grunted as she hit him, caught off-guard by the ferocity of it. Her nails raked at his eyes, drawing blood to three angry red scratches along his forehead. Sam joined in, and he laid a strong punch into Adam’s shoulder, trying to get him to drop the knife.

The demon gave an angry cry and knocked Mary and Sam backward with a surge of power. They both crashed against the floor, skidding.

Dean raised his head, trying to get up. He spat blood onto the ground and croaked, “You’re a coward.”

Adam turned slowly to face him, eyebrows raised. “What’d you say to me?”

“You heard me.” Dean grimaced, trying to buy time for Mary and Sam to recover themselves. “Coward.”

Adam stalked toward him and Dean braced himself for the pain he would cause. A remorseless hand closed around his throat, half pulling him off the floor. Dean groaned soundlessly as his ribs protested, the pieces of them grating together. More blood bubbled into the back of his throat, making him cough. A few drops scored Adam’s face. He didn’t seem to care.

“Say that again,” the demon said dangerously.

Dean would, if he could breathe. He was smart like that. But his head was growing light, his chest burned with pain.

“You’re the coward, Dean,” Adam breathed, dropping Dean back to the ground. He gasped shallowly, head spinning. “You let me take your place. You saved yourself and left me to rot.” He patted Dean’s side, right where his broken ribs were. Dean cried out, trying to push him away.

“I’m…sorry about—th-that,” he grit out, but the demon laughed.

“Sorry. Hah. ‘I’m sorry you went to Hell, Adam!’ ‘I’m sorry my Daddy screwed your Mommy and doomed you forever!’ ‘I’m sorry everything went to crap for you while I got to have my perfect life!’” He touched the tip of his blade to Dean’s chin. “I would kill you right now, but I want you to watch me skewer Sam first.”

Sam appeared behind him, driving an angel blade down into the place where Adam’s shoulder joined his neck. The blade sank to the hilt, splattering Sam’s hand with blood. The wound glowed with the fiery light of an injured demon, but when Sam let go, Adam turned to him with unhindered fury in his black eyes.

He reached to the hilt sticking out of him and drew it up. The stroke had been fatal, but there was barely any blood on the blade when he cast it sideways.

“Good try,” he told Sam, shaking Michael’s angel blade like a reprimanding finger. The wound in his shoulder was already healed.

Water splashed against him and sizzled. Adam howled in pain, waving his hands to try to get it out of his eyes. Mary was on her feet again, holding one of the gallon jugs of holy water that Bobby had stashed in each of his safe houses. She tossed some more at Adam, and he tripped backward, hissing louder than the water.

“Sam, the knife!” Mary shouted.

Sam tackled the burning demon, managing to knock him off his feet. They both grunted as they hit the ground, and then Adam howled louder, trying to block his face from the relentless flood of water. His body seized up, and he arched his back unnaturally high in his attempt to escape. Sam threw his weight down on Adam’s sword arm, wresting it from his slackened grip.

Mary stood over them and stopped pouring the water onto Adam when Sam touched the blade-point to his chest. He curled over him, sitting on his stomach with the archangel blade just inches from his heart.

Adam gasped, spitting burning water onto the floor. “Do it,” he hissed venomously. “Send me back to Hell.”

“You’re gonna go to Heaven,” Sam said, his hands quite steady on the hilt. “But I’m not gonna kill you.”

Adam’s hand swung up, seizing Sam’s wrist. Mary leaned over to pour more holy water, but she stopped herself. Adam leaned his head up toward Sam, his black eyes depthless and hollow.

“Kill me, Sam. You’re not gonna cure me.”

“It’s gonna be hard,” Sam said, meeting his eyes. “But we’ll save you. You deserve that much.”

Adam laughed, and the sound was as empty as his eyes. “Screw you, Sam. I don’t want to be saved.”

He started to exert his power—just a flick of his hand would send Sam and Mary crashing against the walls—but Mary dumped more water on his face. He shrieked and writhed again, and Sam slammed him back into the floor.

“Don’t try that again,” Mary warned.

Adam bared his teeth at her, but then slumped his shoulders.

Curling in on himself to cushion his ribs as best he could, Dean dragged himself to his hands and knees. The movement drew Adam’s sharp gaze.

“Even if you cure me,” he said slowly. “I will still hunt all of you down. I will kill you whether I’m demon or human.”

“You won’t want to once you’re cured,” Sam insisted.

Adam laughed, and Sam looked like he almost lost his balance. He tightened his grip. “I won’t ever be human,” he said.

“He’s right,” Dean groaned. Sam looked over to him, and Dean saw relief in his eyes. “He turned in the Cage. There’s no coming back from that.” He looked at Adam with something like sympathy.

Adam grinned. “He’s right, Sammy. Take away the demon, and there’s nothing left of me. You better kill me. You ready to spill your brother’s blood?”

Involuntarily, Dean looked over at Cas. The angel was completely still and covered in blood, splayed on the ground in a pool of it. Dean started to drag his heavy, aching body toward him. At least the wound wasn’t leaking Grace anymore….

“Sam, I think he’s right,” Mary said. Still holding the bottle of water, she crouched beside Adam and reached for the blade in Sam’s hand. He let her take it. “I hope you go to Heaven, Adam.”

“I hope I cease to exist,” he returned, meeting Mary’s eyes.

“Wait, Mom,” Sam said. “Shouldn’t we at least try?”

“We did try,” Mary said. She was still looking at Adam, and for once his eyes were the shade they’d been before hell. “This is mercy, Sam. It’s what he wants.”

“I’m so sorry, Adam,” Sam whispered.

Mary bore the point of the archangel blade through Adam’s heart until it touched the floor. His eyes lit up with a dying flame. The floor crackled below him. Then he was still. The only sound was Dean’s labored breathing, and Sam’s small sobs.

Dean made it to Cas’ side through force of will alone. He kept having to stop to spit out blood and catch his breath. He wished Cas could heal his broken ribs. He wished Cas could heal himself.

The angel’s face was ghostly pale, his eyes closed. His chest was drenched in blood, all coming from the gaping wound in the top of his chest, right where his heart was. The edges of it were still glowing faintly with Grace. Dean doubted it was healing him. He reached over the bloody mess that was Cas’ chest and touched his throat. His whole body felt numb, seeing Cas like this. He had never been so bad off.

After a terrifying moment, Dean felt life fluttering beneath his shaking fingers. _He was alive_. But with a wound like this, Dean had no idea how long he could last. A human would be dead already. Maybe it was too late. There was nothing he could do for him. Maybe Lucifer could heal Cas, but Dean knew with complete certainty that there was no angel in creation who would answer his prayer.

He tried anyway, like he had with Sam. _Hey angels! Listen up, you winged dicks. Your brother is dying. Cas needs you. Nakir, get your ass down here. Lucifer. Someone._

He cut the prayer off and pressed both his hands into the wound. His side burned with the effort, but he would never move his hands. Not until he bled out and died. Not when Cas was bleeding like this in front of him.

Sam’s hand fell gently on Dean’s shoulder. His eyes were red. Mary was covering Adam’s body with her jacket.

“Come on,” Sam said. “Let’s get him to the bed.”

Dean pulled his hands away. He wanted to throw up at the squelching noise it made. _Cas’ blood_. He shuddered and let Sam slide his arms under Cas, lifting him with a grunt. His heart started hammering as Sam carried the angel away. But Dean couldn’t get up. His legs were too weak, empty.

Mary wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay, Dean. Come on. Get up. You can sit with him.”

She guided him up, bearing most of his weight when he lost his balance from vertigo.

“Dad?” Dean asked, his head still spinning. Mary was leading him toward the bedroom, where Sam had taken Cas.

“We’ll take care of him,” she said. “Just worry about yourself. And Cas.”

Sam had laid Cas on top of the blankets and was peering at the wound. Mary guided Dean to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Put pressure on that,” Sam said, gesturing at the wound and meeting Dean’s eyes. “He’s gonna be okay, Dean.”

Dean nodded hollowly. He wished they would stop saying that. It wasn’t true. There was no way Cas could—

Mary wrapped the spare blanket around his shoulders and she and Sam left the room. Dean could hear them talking in the main room, the rustle of the sterile gauze wrappings. Mary came back with her hands full of first aid supplies. She put them next to Dean on the bed, kissed his forehead, and said, “You take care of Cas. When you’re done, I’ll treat you.”

She left and shut the door gently.

Dean turned his focus to Cas. Numbly, he peeled back the angel’s clothes. Fresh blood was staining his hands. Before he knew it, he was talking to him.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I’m sorry. I should never have— You should have been safe. I should have protected—I’m sorry. Cas. Don’t die. Please.” There were tears on his cheeks. His hands were shaking so much it was hard to pull open the wrapper on the first gauze pad. He choked a little as he pressed it against the wound; it soaked through almost immediately. Cas’ blood felt cold.

Once he had wrapped the gaping hole, Dean sat there, empty. Mary hadn’t come back in yet; she must think he needed more time to patch Cas up. But there was nothing he could really do. He had plastered every piece of gauze she’d brought over the wound, but still he could see red beginning to seep through the top layer. He reached out clumsy fingers and felt for a pulse. It took a minute, but finally he felt it there trembling.

He sat beside Cas, his side burning and every breath a stab through his chest. But Cas was dying, and Dean hardly noticed his own pain. He realized Cas was still wearing his shoes.

With an enormous effort, he dragged himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the bed. He walked around to the end and tried to lean over. But his ribs protested so sharply that he lost his balance, gasping through his teeth and falling over the end of the bed. He groaned, rolling onto his good side and spitting blood onto the bedspread. Dizzy, he pushed himself up and reached for Cas’ shoelaces. They were crusted with blood, and didn’t want to come undone. He tugged and tugged, tears running down his face.

Finally the laces came free and Dean eased Cas’ feet out of his dress shoes. He wiped a few spots of blood off the toes before dropping them to the floor. Then he made his halting, painful way back to the head of the bed, where he slumped next to Cas.

The door opened slowly. It was Sam. Dean didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes fixed on Cas’ ghostly face, aware of the tears on his cheeks and wishing he had a way to hide them. He didn’t even have the strength to wipe them away.

“Dean?” Sam said softly. He came into the room and stood by Dean’s side, leaning over to check Cas’ pulse himself. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and said, “You’ve done everything you can.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Dean said tonelessly. His voice was as empty as his chest.

“Come see Dad. Let me or Mom wrap your ribs. Cas is gonna be fine.”

Dean shook his head even though it sent a wave of vertigo through him. “No.”

“Dean, Dad’s hurt almost as bad,” Sam said softly. “He might not….”

It was one more blow to Dean’s hollow soul. He shook his head mutely. If he stood up now, if he let himself feel anything, if any of this became real…. It was too much. He would collapse, and then he’d be no use to anybody.

He was dimly aware of Sam patting his shoulder, then the gentle sound of the door shutting.

He lost track of how long he sat there after that. How different it was, to be the one watching Cas lie still. They had talked about it, during that unbelievable period of peace in their perfect motel. How Dean didn’t mind so much that Cas occupied his long nights by watching Dean’s sleeping face. How it actually made Dean feel safer, more peaceful. How happy he was, knowing that he and Cas were looking out for each other. Dean put his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving as the pain in his ribs built relentlessly.

He considered sending out another prayer. But the angels wouldn’t come. Him and Sam and Mom were Cas’ only family. His dick brothers wouldn’t help. To be honest, he didn’t even know if an angel could heal Cas. He wasn’t really sure if Michael had done more than the physical injury. The way they’d been glowing….

Dean lifted his head and stared at Cas’ face. He didn’t look remotely peaceful. He looked too close to dead. Dean hated the stillness, hated the way Cas had no idea that he was there.

He raised his chin a little more, eyes tracing the devil’s trap painted along the ceiling. His eyes burned afresh and he cleared his throat.

“I need help,” Dean whispered. “Please. Chuck. Amara. Someone. It’s Cas.” His voice broke, and he looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “He’s hurt. Bad. Please. Without Cas, I—” He looked again at the angel’s face. His best friend. His more-than-friend. His everything. His angel. “Please. Chuck. I know he’s screwed up a few times. But we all have, haven’t we? Even you. And Cas…. Cas was the best person you ever made. I know you don’t see it. But he was. You entrusted all this to us. But I need him. Come help him. Help me. Please.”

He lowered his head, because it was pointless. God was gone, and even if he wasn’t, there was no way he’d waste his time answering Dean’s prayers. Not when there were devout nuns to save from wastrels or whatever. God probably hadn’t even heard him. He gave a disgusted laugh that made his ribs flare with pain.

The necklace Sam had given him flared with light.

It almost gave Dean a heart attack. He lurched away from the abrupt light so close to his face, almost falling off the bed when it came with him. When he realized what it was, he caught himself, clenching a hand around it to block the searing light, and looking around wildly.

Chuck stood at the foot of the bed, his ancient eyes sad as they gazed upon Cas. He met Dean’s gaze, a small smile on his lips.

“Of course I heard you,” he said gently. “Of course I’ll come for Castiel.”

The bedroom door flew open and Sam and Mary were standing there.

“We saw the light— Oh,” Sam said. “Chuck.”

Mary looked Chuck up and down.

“Hi, Mary,” he said. “You adjusting okay?”

She nodded. “How’s your vacation?”

“Pretty good,” he said. “I’d love to chat, but….”

“It’s fine,” Mary said. “We wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“We’ll go back to Dad,” Sam said awkwardly, stepping out and holding the door for Mary. He closed it behind them.

Chuck smiled at Dean. “He’s going to be okay. I promise.”

“Just do it,” Dean whispered, his eyes on the bloody gauze pad he had taped over Cas’ chest, wondering how much blood and Grace he even had left in him.

Chuck sat on the bed and leaned over to touch his hand to Cas’ face. For a moment he looked so much like a worried father that Dean had trouble believing this being had created the universe.

Then Cas gasped and the blood vanished. The gauze disappeared into thin air and the holes in his clothing were repaired. His color returned and he sat up, pressing his hands to where the wound had been. Cas looked around, bewildered, and saw Chuck sitting beside him, a gentle smile on his lips. But Cas kept looking, wide-eyed, until he found Dean on the other side of the bed.

His face lit up. He reached for Dean even as Dean was making a choked sound of profound relief, collapsing forward into Cas’ arms before he could stop himself. His ribs protested, but he didn’t notice. He clutched Cas as tightly as he could bear, pulling away only to press his lips to Cas’. There were fresh tears on his face, but he wasn’t upset about them. Happy tears were okay.

Finally, Cas pushed him away. “You’re hurt,” he said gently. “Dean—”

“I’m fine,” Dean said. He just wanted to hold him close, to feel his heart beating and assure himself that Cas would be alright.

“To quote your mother,” Cas said, sitting up the rest of the way and making Dean sit beside him. “That’s how I know you’re not fine.” He squinted, and then passed a hand over Dean’s forehead. The pain in his ribs vanished. Dean took a deep breath and marveled at how immense the relief was. Having broken ribs was like slowly suffocating.

Chuck held up his hands. “What you two do together is your business. I don’t judge.”

“I thought that was the whole point of you,” Dean grumbled. Cas patted his arm consolingly, rolling his shoulders with a puzzled look on his face.

“Castiel?” Chuck asked.

“My wings,” he said hesitantly. “You…fixed them?”

Dean gasped, and Chuck smiled. “I figured while I was here….”

A slow smile spread over Cas’ face and he met Dean’s eyes almost hungrily.

“Your wings,” Dean breathed.

“You’re welcome,” Chuck said happily.

Cas’ expression turned stony. He cast a sidelong glance at his father before turning to stare pointedly at the door.

“What’s the matter?” Chuck asked.

“Thank you for healing me,” Cas said. “I’m sorry you had to come back from vacation.”

“Of course I came back,” Chuck said earnestly. “You’re my son.”

Cas scoffed. Actually scoffed, and Dean glared at Chuck. “You’re saying that now?” he asked, slipping his hand into Cas’. “After all the crap he’s been through?”

Chuck looked down at his hands. “You have every right to be angry. Both of you.”

“Yes. We do,” Cas said icily. “Thank you for coming.” His tone was a dismissal so sharp even Dean probably would have left. Cas’ grip on his hand was painfully tight, his eyes still fixed on the door.

Chuck sighed. “I am so sorry, Castiel,” he said. “Please, give me a chance to explain everything.”

Cas gave him a distrustful side-eye, considering.

“Dean?” Chuck said. “Can I please have a moment with my son?”

Dean looked at Cas to see what he wanted. He was willing to bet that, Ruler of the Universe or not, Chuck would clear out of here pretty quickly if Dean showed him pictures of sick cats or something. Then Cas nodded, letting go of Dean’s hand.

“I’ll be right outside,” Dean promised.

He stepped through the door, and almost ran into Sam.

“I was just coming to get you,” he said, his voice urgent. “Is Cas okay?”

“He’s fine. Chuck healed him. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Dad,” Sam said, glancing back at where Mary was sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, pulled over to the couch. Dean couldn’t see John at all. He followed Sam across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go :)


	23. Ohana, or Whatever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Last chapter!

Castiel sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the door Dean had just disappeared through. Chuck was calmly watching him, sitting on the other side of the bed with his hands placidly entwined in his lap. His eyes were soft, waiting for Cas to speak, but he wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence.

Finally, Chuck conceded. “I understand why you’re angry, Castiel.” He didn’t respond except to fix Chuck with his best angry-Dean stare. Chuck sighed. “I’ve never been a very good father.”

“No, you haven’t,” Cas said without inflection. “So why did you bother….”

“Creating the world?” he asked, looking around the cabin as though he could see the whole universe painted on the walls. He probably could. “Because I wanted there to be more than just me and Amara and Death.”

“And was it worth it?” Castiel asked bitingly. “Do you enjoy watching us suffer and making it worse?”

“Cas—” he said sadly, but Cas cut him off.

“Only friends call me that. Or family.”

“I am your father, Castiel,” Chuck said, a hint of sternness coloring his voice. Cas bristled. “And I do love you.”

Cas faced him finally, his head high and his eyes sharp. “Love is not this,” he said. “You have never shown love for me. For any of us. You do not get to call yourself my father.”

“You don’t understand,” said Chuck, trying to defuse the boiling anger in Cas’ voice. “The things that are required of me, the things I need to do—”

“Don’t make excuses,” Cas snapped. “You have all the power in the world, but you let the ones you claim to love suffer. We would never do that. That’s not love.”

Chuck broke eye contact, looking down. “I know, Castiel. But it’s because I have that power—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Cas said. “If you have nothing else to say, go.”

He turned his head away, waiting for Chuck to disappear.

“Could you hear things I said to Lucifer?”

“What?” Cas asked, surprised he hadn’t taken the opportunity to leave.

“Back in the bunker. Could you hear what I said?”

“Most of it. I got the gist,” Cas said bitterly.

“I wasn’t talking to Lucifer.”

Cas frowned. “Yes you were,” he said, as though Chuck had lost his mind. “Lucifer was possessing me. You were speaking to him.”

“Lucifer was present, but I was talking to you, Castiel. You are my favorite son.” He paused significantly, but Cas didn’t reply. “You are the closest one to me. I look at you, and I see everything I wanted to create. Love. Trust. Kindness. You are the embodiment of my Creation, Castiel. You are everything I love in the world in one place, and I love you so much for that.”

Cas looked down, suddenly unable to meet his father’s eyes. “I failed—”

Chuck cut him off, his tone still gentle. “So did I.” Cas’ head jerked up. “I failed to save my sister. I failed to protect Lucifer. I’ve failed you. Over and over. But you’re still you, Castiel. You’re still the angel who loves more than any other. You’re the angel who was always going to learn to be better, no matter how many times the others tore you down. You’re my favorite son.”

Cas was staring at him, something unbearably human pounding through him. It felt like those times he had found out Dean was alive after thinking him dead. It felt like being completed.

“I am so sorry that your path has brought you so much pain. I never resurrected you as a punishment. I did it because the world without you is a lesser place. A less holy place. I couldn’t bear to see that.”

Chuck’s eyes were wide and almost teary. He leaned toward Cas, imploring him to believe him.

“I— I don’t know what to say,” Castiel began.

Chuck sighed. “You don’t have to say anything.” He looked down at his hands, absentmindedly smoothing the bedcovers. “You don’t owe me anything. I only want you to be happy.”

Cas couldn’t speak. He tried, but didn’t manage a sound. His throat was too tight, uncomfortable, like when he had watched Dean struggle to say the words ‘I love you’ for the first time.

“I’m glad you’re with Dean now,” Chuck said with a grin that broke the tension squeezing Castiel’s chest. He drew in a shaking breath and blinked rapidly. “You two are perfect. When’s the wedding?”

Cas choked a little. “Wedding?”

“You have my blessing, if you want to be old-fashioned,” Chuck said. “I never understood that tradition, but I think the parents just wanted to feel involved.”

“We’ve only been together for a few days,” Cas said, reeling from the release of emotional pressure in the room. “I believe humans prefer to wait a few years before marrying.”

“Oh, please,” Chuck said. “You two have been together for at least 8 years, even if you didn’t realize it.”

He stood up and came around the bed to stand a few feet from Castiel. He held out his hand. Slowly, Cas stood up. He glanced at the outstretched hand, then met his father’s eyes. Cas hugged him.

His body was stiff, and it was nothing like hugging Dean. But he felt his father’s life thrumming in his arms and remembered what it was like to have power over all things.

“I don’t envy you,” Castiel said softly. “Your power. Your responsibility.”

Chuck gave a dry laugh. “Me neither.”

Cas pulled away, nodding seriously. “Thank you, for….” He gestured at the bed.

Chuck smiled a little. “I’ll visit, next time I’m in town?”

Cas thought about it, then nodded. “But maybe call ahead,” he said. “Dean might be surprised if you just show up.”

“Of course,” Chuck said. “I don’t want to be that kind of father-in-law.”

[|][|][|]

John’s face looked gray beneath the gauze. His eyes were closed, his mouth open to struggle for breath. They had taped up his injuries and cleaned him off, putting him in some of Sam’s clothes. Dean bit his lip when he looked at him.

“He needs the hospital,” he said hoarsely.

Mary’s eyes soft. “We’re too far from one, and we can’t call an ambulance.” She looked around, gesturing at the broken windows, the pools of blood on the floor, and Adam’s body.

“He’s tough,” Sam said. “He’ll make it.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “And Cas is better. He can heal him.”

“Yeah,” Dean said.

So they waited. No one was going to interrupt Cas’ conversation with his father, and despite his numerous wounds, John was stable. Sam and Mary treated each other’s minor injuries, and Dean swept away the shattered glass that had fallen inside the house.

Finally, Cas stepped out of the bedroom. His expression was of gentle happiness, just a soft smile that Dean had to kiss. He did, walking straight into Cas’ open arms.

“Ahem,” Sam said, and Dean rolled his eyes, pulling away from the kiss. “Cas, we need your help.”

“What is it?” Cas asked, holding Dean’s hand as he walked toward Sam.

“It’s Dad,” said Dean.

Cas looked down at him. “Oh.” His happiness seemed to fade, and Dean felt suddenly cold.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What is it?”

“I can heal him,” Cas said slowly. “But—” He seemed to cast around for the right words.

“But…?” Dean prompted, glancing between John and Cas.

“He was possessed by an archangel,” Cas said. “And Michael was not mindful of his soul. I’m sorry. Even if I heal him, he will never wake up. His body will continue to deteriorate, until my power is not enough to keep him alive.”

There was a long silence. Mary was staring at John’s pale face, her eyes wide. Sam met Dean’s gaze helplessly.

“Oh,” was all Dean could manage. He pulled a chair closer and sat. Cas kept hold of his hand.

“I might…” Cas began, and hesitated. “I might be able to facilitate a conversation. Between the four of you. Inside his mind.”

“How would that work?” Mary asked. They were all speaking quietly, as one does at a deathbed.

“Angels can enter people’s dreams,” Cas said. “It’s simply a matter of bringing you with me. This may be your last chance.”

They hesitated and glanced around at each other. Finally, Mary said, “There are things I would like to say to him.”

Dean nodded. “Then you should get to. Closure.”

Sam grunted his agreement. “What should we do, Cas?”

“Physical contact would make it easier,” Cas said. He drew up another chair and laid one hand on John’s forehead. “We have to be quick. He’s fading.”

Dean took Cas’ other hand while Sam and Mary stood up to put their hands on his shoulders.

“This may be a bit jarring,” Cas warned them.

And then they were standing in a dim hallway at the top of a set of wooden stairs. Dean recognized it immediately, even without the lights on. Their old house in Lawrence. He could hear the tv on downstairs.

They descended slowly, until the living room came into view and they saw him. John was sitting on a couch much like the one in the cabin, but he was upright, his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward the tv. On the screen was a home video of two young boys playing in the driveway. Every now and then, the visual would be overcome by static; there was no audio except for a low buzzing.

John turned around as they approached. He stood up slowly, his wide eyes on Mary.

“Hi, John,” she said.

He looked over all of them, sizing up Castiel last. His look made Dean want to step in front of Cas.

“This isn’t a vision?” John asked finally. His voice was just as Dean remembered, deep and biting.

“No,” Cas said. “But your time is limited. You are dying.”

John blinked, and Dean muttered, “Nice, Cas.”

The angel shrugged. “He knew it anyway.”

John nodded. “The lights went out a little while ago.” He gestured at the quiet house. “And the tv won’t stay on.”

“Dad,” Sam began, but John held up his hand. He stepped toward Mary.

“Are you really alive?” he asked. “I thought they were just showing me things.”

“They were,” she said. “But I’m alive.”

He smiled, reaching to touch her face, but stopped. “I’m glad,” he said, and let his hand drop to his side.

Mary took the last step toward him. “I didn’t know what I’d say if I saw you again,” she said. “I didn’t know if I wanted to find out.”

He frowned, glancing again at the boys as if wishing this conversation were happening in private.

“They deserve to hear this, John,” Mary said. “I want them to.”

“What’s wrong, Mary?” he asked. “I did everything I could. After you died, I did everything I could to find that demon.”

“I would never have asked you to do that.” Her voice was firm, not sharp, but he looked horrified. “I never wanted this life for my family, John. I wish you had bought a new house, moved on with your life, and loved our sons.”

She reached up, laying her palm against his cheek. John closed his eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry, Mary.”

“Me too,” she said. “I hope you find peace in Heaven, John.”

She stepped back and started to turn away.

“Mary?” John asked. She looked at him, her expression guarded. “Don’t join me for a while?”

She hesitated, her eyes softening. “I don’t think I’ll ever join you.”

He looked down, his shoulders slumping with a sigh.

Mary folded her arms against her chest and looked at Dean and Sam.

“Dad?” Dean asked, and John looked up at him. “Uh—”

“Did you kill it?” John asked. “The thing that killed me?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said automatically. “We got them.”

“Then same goes for you two,” John said. “Don’t go to Heaven yet.”

“We’ll try,” Sam said softly. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

He scoffed. “None of that, Sammy.” The tv behind him started flickering between static and black. John glanced at it, then at Cas. “I think my time’s up.”

A bright light started to glow in the center of his chest. “Take care of your mother, boys.” His head tilted back and the light seemed to fill the house, blinding them, until—

Dean opened his eyes in the cabin. He didn’t need to look to see that John was dead. He hung his head and stared at the floor.

[|][|][|]

They gave John and Adam each a hunter’s funeral outside the cabin. Mary said a few words for John, Sam spoke for Adam, and then they went inside the drafty house and had a few beers with their canned beans.

Dean hardly spoke. He couldn’t meet any of their eyes, and he shivered uncomfortably when Cas tried to touch him. He didn’t want physical contact or comfort. He wanted the ache of guilt in his chest to disappear.

After dinner, he went outside to watch the stars. The cold snap had ended, and he held his beer tight to his chest, leaning against the Impala. Mary came to join him after a few minutes.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked, standing beside him and staring out at the swaying grass.

Dean grunted noncommittally and took another sip.

Mary sighed. “I think I know what you’re feeling,” she said. “It’s strange not to miss him.”

Dean looked at the ground. “I should,” he muttered. “He raised me. Us.”

“Dean, he’s been dead for you for eleven years,” Mary said. “You already mourned him. Don’t make yourself do it again.”

He cleared his throat, but held back the words he didn’t dare say.

“Can I tell you something?” Mary said, still looking at the grass. “I can’t imagine living in the bunker with him. Or hunting with him. I know I wouldn’t want that. I’m almost….” She trailed away, her expression pained.

“Glad?” Dean asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Mary nodded, and Dean found himself admitting, “Me too.”

“I know,” she said, giving him a soft smile. “It’s okay, Dean.”

He shook his head, his throat thick and his eyes prickling. “I should miss him. I should want him back.” His voice was muted with the guilt of it.

“Dean, listen to me,” Mary said, hugging him tightly. “It’s okay. It’s okay to feel however you feel. It does not make you any less the incredible person you grew up to be. No matter what, I’m so proud of you.”

Dean buried his face in her shoulder and felt the first tear fall. “I want us to be a family. But Dad. Dad wouldn’t’ve….”

“I know,” she said, holding him tighter. “We are a family, Dean. No matter what.”

He took a bitter breath and let her rub soothing circles on his back. “I’m glad you’re here, Mom.”

“Me too, sweetheart. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

[|][|][|]

They returned to the bunker the next day. Their guests were pleased to see them, if only because it meant they were no longer confined to safe territory. Dean said an awkward hello to Aaron, who took one look at him where he stood so close to Cas, grinned a little, and nodded. Dean figured there were no hard feelings there.

Everyone stayed around long enough to hear the story of their latest adventure before deciding it was time to return to their lives. Dean gave everyone an open invitation to visit whenever they wanted (as long as they called first), and wished them safe drives home. Jody gave him and Sam tight hugs, then Mary and Cas even tighter ones.

The bunker was quiet once everyone had left. Life returned to normal. Dean and Cas shared Dean’s bedroom, Sam drank way too much coffee and did nerdy things, and Mary decided that it might be useful to have a second pair of boots. They learned to live with each other in all the new ways they could.

Though they had decided to take a break from hunting, they couldn’t truly get away. Two weeks after the final showdown, there was a deafening knock on the door of the bunker. Gun in hand and heart pounding, Dean checked who it was.

“Let us in!” Lucifer called. “It’s freezing.” Michael was beside him.

Dean looked back at the others, their weapons drawn. Sam shrugged helplessly. He opened the door and stepped back as the two archangels came inside.

Turned out Michael had felt guilty about causing them so much trouble and wanted to come apologize. Lucifer had taken him to some remote island (or Jupiter, Dean wasn’t sure which of them to believe), and talked some self-awareness back into his older brother. Now they had decided to travel the universe together, waiting for the other archangels to be reborn.

“Wait, what was that?” Sam asked, staring at Michael.

The archangel nodded gravely. He was wearing a new vessel, a young man with green eyes. It had been a gift from God, apparently. “The four of us will soon be together again, for the first time since the beginning of time.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Lucifer said. “I’m not looking forward to those little asshats stomping all over the place.”

“Okay, well…” Dean began, but Michael cut him off, standing up.

“Take care of each other, Winchesters,” he said. “We will do our best not to bother you anymore.”

“No promises though,” Lucifer grinned.

In terms of visitors, though, that wasn’t their weirdest experience in the following weeks. Dean’s phone started ringing at lunch one day, and when he’d answered it, Crowley had informed him that he and a guest were outside the bunker, waiting to be let in.

Dean opened the door, and found himself faced with a suspiciously smiling Crowley and young woman in a crisp suit. He stepped back to let them in.

Sam dove for his gun, shouting “Dean, look out, she’s a demon!”

“Relax, Sam,” Crowley said. “She’s here to ask a favor.”

“I can speak for myself,” the demon said.

They came in and sat around the table. Dean figured this was the second-strangest gathering this table had ever seen, the first being when the sun was dying and God himself had sat here.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Abby, the demon, said, mostly looking at Sam. “I want you to cure me.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“If you make me explain myself, I’ll cut your throat,” she said snapped, then recomposed herself with visible effort. “You can do it, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “But we’ve never had a demon _ask_ to be cured before.”

“First time for everything,” she said, baring her teeth.

So they led her to the basement and Sam started the curing process while Dean and Crowley stood outside.

“It’s purely selfish,” Crowley said nonchalantly. Dean raised his eyebrows. “Live out eternity as a demon or live the rest of your life as a human and then go to Heaven. She made her choice.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean said. “If it’s so simple, why haven’t you done it?”

“Because I don’t have anyone to do it for,” Crowley said. “Which reminds me.” He drew his hand from his pocket and produced a huge scroll. “Her sister’s contract.” He held it in the palm of his hand, and it burst into flames. “Makes no sense for her to go to Hell now.”

Dean shook his head. “Thanks for bringing her here, Crowley,” he said finally.

The King shrugged. “I had nothing better to do.”

“What are you gonna do now?” Dean asked him.

“This and that, catch up on Downton Abbey, get up to various misdeeds. Mostly what you’d expect.”

“You can drop in whenever,” Dean offered.

Crowley gave him a sidelong stare, then said, “I dunno how your Mummy would feel about that.”

“She got used to you.”

They stood in silence again.

“So, you and Cas?”

“Shut up.”

“I called it years ago, by the way.”

“Uh-huh.”

[|][|][|]

Dean woke up in Cas’ arms, like he had so many mornings. He was warm and comfortable and smiled, pressing a kiss to the angel’s wrist. In turn, Cas dropped a kiss onto the back of his neck.

“Good morning,” the angel murmured.

Dean stretched his legs beneath the blankets. “Morning.”

He turned his head, trying to reposition himself so that he could reach Cas’ lips. It was too early for such struggles.

“I believe Sam is making pancakes,” Cas said, and finally took pity on him, leaning closer for a gentle kiss.

“Not in my kitchen,” Dean grumbled. “He’ll mess everything up.”

“Mary is helping him.”

Dean grinned, inhaling deeply. But he could only smell Cas, wrapped securely around him. “Then I guess we can stay here,” he said slyly.

“I am always willing to stay in bed with you, Dean,” Cas said. “But your stomach was rumbling in your sleep.”

Dean grinned. “The pancakes’ll be there later. Right now we’re here.”

Cas returned the smile and kissed him long and deep. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“I love you,” Dean said, stretching into him.

“I know.”

“Really, Han?”

“I love you, Dean.”

“I love you, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this fic. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!  
> I think I could return to this universe for oneshots or timestamps or something. If you have something you'd like to see, shoot me an ask on my [tumblr](http://ordered---chaos.tumblr.com). Also, if you art (unlike me) and would want to draw for this fic, please do the same! :D
> 
> Thank you so much to my Beta, [TheCadenceandtheCacophany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecadenceandthecacophony) for all of your invaluable help and support. 
> 
> Finally, thank you to [Hekate1308](http://hekate1308.tumblr.com) for being the best unaffiliated reader anyone could hope for.
> 
> I love you all, thank you so much, and please take care!


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